


This ain't a love song

by assassi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bar Owner Derek Hale, Healing, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mechanic Chris Argent, Mechanic Stiles Stilinski, Owner Peter Hale, Therapy, club, found pack, petopher, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21824356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassi/pseuds/assassi
Summary: “You see, Christopher”, Peter rumbled, voice so low it was almost a purr. It made goosebumps break on Chris’ skin and his breath hitched. “There are animals”, Peter’s nose rubbed into Chris’, barely; Chris’ eyes slipped close “that like to play with their prey.”“Like panthers?”, he panted, hating how weak his voice sounded.“Like blue-eyed wolves.”
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 34
Kudos: 396





	1. Slept so long

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've started writing this and I've just finished it and I had no patience :) If you see any mistakes or anything sounds off - let me know. Also, because I know how important that is - this story is finished and I plan to post a chapter each day :) All of the chapter titles are names of songs :) Ask and comment, let me know what you think :)
> 
> !! This fic might sound a bit OC from time to time - it is an AU after all but I wanted to make that clear. I always try to portray them all in character, I've tried here as well, but I also wanted a story of what could have been: Peter's relationship with his daughter if given a chance for example; his bond with Derek in different circumstances than in the show. Anyway. Fair warning. Give it a go if you want to and let me know how it turned out ;) !!
> 
> A.N. Slept so long was originally Queen of the damned's soundrack. I've seen versions by both Jay Gordon and Jonathan Davis.

He stared down at the city below, the street lights and the houses reduced to small bright dots as dusk fell over Beacon Hills. A lot of time had passed since he’d last seen that sight. A lot of memories were buried in this town.

And yet.

“Are you sure that was a good idea? I don’t see how that’s ‘healing’.”

Peter smirked, arms crossed over his chest, body leaning casually on his ride.

“Take a deep breath, Derek. What do you smell?”

There was an exaggerated intake of breath, probably accompanied by an eye-roll. But then,

“Foliage. Dirt. It’s going to rain soon.”

“And?”, Peter nudged.

Another sigh. “You know what else.”

Peter finally deigned his nephew with a look, moderately amused.

“Hmm. Yes, I know. Do _you_?”

Derek was getting annoyed – his fists were clenched, jaw tight, muscles taut. Kid was too easily irritable. But they all had their faults, all fighting their own demons.

Precisely the reason to come back.

“Just because it smells like home doesn’t mean that it still is, Peter! Doesn’t mean they will welcome us with their arms wide open!”

“Oh, I don’t expect them to. But things change, nephew. This is Hale land and we were gone too long.”

He turned back to look at the calm and sleepy town below. His eyes flashed bright neon blue. His smile was all teeth. And a promise.

“Time to reclaim what’s ours.”


	2. Back in Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in Black is a song by AC/DC.

The trolley’s wheel screeched on every turn, making Chris want to just snap it off. He didn’t even need a trolley, shopping just for himself now that Allison lived in France with Scott. The thing was, he still couldn’t get over it all: him living alone, Allison – old enough to live by herself, with a guy he wasn’t really sure he liked most of the time (okay, he liked the kid, he was just mopey that said kid got to live with _his_ kid, away from him). He looked down at his shopping cart. A lone, sad pack of spaghetti sat there, mocking him.

He should have just gotten a basket.

He looked up in the direction of where the baskets were stored. And froze.

Because just a few isles down a memory from his worst nightmare seemed to have chosen the same shop, the same time, haunting him.

It couldn’t be him. Realistically, Chris shouldn’t even know what he looked like now.

But there was no mistaking the wide shoulders, hair carefully arranged in a stylish cut even though he was dressed in a casual Henley and jeans. He contemplated a huge jar of Nutella before he looked up at something (someone?), put the jar in his already full cart and added two more.

He must have sensed Chris looking at him. Yet he stubbornly didn’t look back. The corner of his mouth twitched: he knew Chris was watching him and for a moment that amused him. But then his mouth hardened and his eyes focused again on that something a few feet away from him, hidden from Chris’ eyes by another isle. 

As if summoned, a girl appeared right next to the full cart and dropped a few trashy magazines in it, turning to walk away again but a strong hand grabbed her smaller wrist and held on tight. She looked up.

But Peter Hale was finally looking at Chris, eyes cold and guarded as he gathered the girl closer, a blatant warning. The resemblance was obvious: the same hair color, same high cheekbones. Her eyes were brown where his were blue but their shape was the same.

Peter Hale had a daughter.

And the promise in those murderous eyes was clear: he would tear apart anyone who dared to even come near her.

He passed on the shopping cart to her, nudging her toward the registers while his eyes didn’t leave Chris for a second as he backed away slowly. Chris blinked and the next moment they were gone.

He looked down at his own trolley, then back up at where they had just stood.

He must have dreamt it.

* * *

Peter stirred the meal for the last time before turning off the stove. He poured some into a plate and slid it down the counter where Malia sat, hidden behind a cover that said “Is Prince Harry an illegitimate child?” and “Brangelina back together!”.

“Dinner”, he announced.

She just wordlessly waved a jar of Nutella, already half-full, making him sigh and pray for strength.

The door opened and Derek walked in, dropping a stack of papers on the counter.

“I went to check out the place you told me about”, Derek said, shaking off his leather jacket and pulling Malia’s untouched plate closer before stabbing a forkful and stuffing it in his mouth.

 _Are we really sure we’re all related?,_ Peter thought, nose scrunched up in disgust.

“And?”, he asked.

“Sign and we can start renovations on Monday”, Derek nodded at the papers.

Peter smiled, pleased with the news. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malia watching Derek devour his dinner before her eyes fixed on the pan. He sighed, filled another plate and slid it over to her. Her hand shot out and dragged it even closer before she attacked her food the same way her cousin did.

Peter sighed. It was still weird, this… arrangement, this… family they had now.

But he could get used to it.

* * *

“Ah, come on!”, Chris cursed, muscles pulled taut as he tried to unscrew the damn nut. Who the hell had overdone it so damn much?!

Oh, right. Him.

The unmistakable sound of a powder blue CJ5 reached his ears and he groaned again.

Some days he seriously doubted his career choice.

A door was opened, then closed. Footsteps approached. Chris didn’t bother to roll from under the car he was currently repairing.

“The answer is no, Stiles. There is nothing more I can do for your car until we change the whole engine which, if I even find all the original parts, will cost more than a new car.”

There was a snort.

“Uh. I’m not here about the car… not only? Can we… um, can we talk? Like face to face?”

Chris sighed and finally emerged from under the Civic he was currently working on.

“What is it?”

“I’m uh… I was wondering if you needed some help. Well, more like… I need a job for the summer”, Stiles said, looking at his shoes, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“You want to be a mechanic?”, Chis double checked.

“Well. I know a few things. I mean, love and duct tape can only get you so far and Roscoe’s still running, am I right?”, he beamed.

Which… true.

“But I have a lot more to learn and… I need a job. At least for the summer before school starts again.”

Right. Because just getting a full scholarship for the number one university in US wasn’t enough, he now wanted to be even more independent and earn his own money.

It was too hard not to like this kid.

Chris opened his mouth.

He was interrupted by the roar of a sports bike that made them both turn their heads. They exchanged a look and went to investigate, talk temporarily forgotten as they approached the shop’s front which overlooked the street.

Right on the other side of the road a literal wet dream was just getting off a shiny black Kawasaki Ninja. There was no helmet and his hair was a sexy mess. His white t-shirt looked painted on, same as the black jeans, ending in black biker boots. He pulled off the aviators and looked at the building.

The old bookstore. Which used to have a “For Sale” sign. It still did, only the S was painted over with a bright red H.

“Now that’s hot”, Stiles sighed dreamily.

Chris looked at the brat, praying that he talked about…

“The bike, I mean”, the kid clarified quickly.

“It’s unpractical”, Chris grunted.

Stiles snorted inelegantly. Chris frowned.

“What”, he groaned.

“Don’t pretend that you didn’t watch his ass on that bike.”

“And what about when it rains?”, Chris quickly cut him off.

“Well, I bet he looks even better with a wet shirt clinging on his sexy…”

Peter’s head snapped up and whipped around to face them.

Chris groaned, slapping a hand on his forehead.

Stiles frowned. That guy couldn’t have heard him all the way across the street. …Could he?

The guy across the street smiled a slow, bastard smile.

And his eyes flashed a bright neon blue.

Chris tensed next to him, suddenly more alerted than a second ago, even though he had obviously known that…

The smirk widened, revealing sharp fangs.

Yep. Definitely a werewolf.

Another guy, younger and even sexier if that was even possible, stepped out of the old building and asked the biker something. The first man chuckled, shook his head and walked inside, patting the younger guy’s shoulder.

“Fuck. He so heard me, didn’t he?”, Stiles groaned.

Chris was still tense next to him and that made Stiles frown again. The supernatural, while not openly out there, wasn’t something uncommon in Beacon Hills. Not after all the shit show that happened a few years ago: Deucallion and his madness, biting and turning innocent teenagers, amongst which Stiles’ best friend Scott, Erica, Boyd and Isaac; the Alpha pack, running to stay alive, the Kanima and Chris’ father and the rift that caused between the Argents; the Darach and the… the Nogitsune and fighting to get rid of it, fighting for his sanity.

“That’s Peter Hale”, Chris just said.

Stiles’ brows shot up in surprise. Peter Hale. He had been in a coma for years, healing from the fire…

(The fire which Chris’ sister had started. He and Allison were literally the only decent and _sane_ people in that family.)

By the time the shit show had happened Peter had just left town after he had woken up from his coma. People said he was healed on the outside, but mentally… there was a long way to go. Rumor was they had been in New York for a while, his nephew Derek and him.

That still didn’t explain why Chris was so tense next to him, considering his own daughter was currently dating a werewolf and Stiles turned around to ask just that when the man spoke.

“You still want a job?”

Confused by the sudden change of topic, Stiles nodded. Chris nodded back and walked inside the shop.

“Be back here on Monday, 8 sharp.”

Stiles grinned. “Got it, boss!”

He still hadn’t forgotten Chris’ strange behavior. But his questions could wait.

* * *

_The blinking light from the broken sign outside was dancing on the floor, on the creaking bed, on the old and probably dirty sheets. It had been the last room available in that shitty old motel. They were just two stupid brats and it was all they could afford._

_It was heaven._

_Roaming hands slid on sweaty skin as trembling fingers tried to map out every curve, every hidden spot that caused a breathy gasp. Lips, swollen and puffy from kisses, chased each other’s taste and tried to steal each other’s breath. They were uncoordinated and graceless, so painfully desperate and innocent._

_Purple dots from the flashing light outside danced on his partner’s face. His lips trembled and his breath was hitched, eyes wide and vulnerable, digging into Chris’ very soul. They were young and stupid; inexperienced and scared._

_“Are you sure?”, Chris asked, voice hitching._

_His lover nodded._

_Chris slid inside him slowly and gently. The body beneath him trembled, head falling back on the pillow as Chris pushed, inch by slow inch. Everything was tight and pulsing, poised for a quick end, no matter how much they wanted it to last. Finally, fucking finally Chris bottomed out, so close already that he could taste it. He gritted his teeth, hovering awkwardly above his lover._

_“You good?”_

_Eyes, no longer blue but bright yellow, opened slowly and Peter smiled shakily, open and real._

_“Yeah…”_

Chris woke up with a start, body drenched in sweat as he shot up in his bed, looking around and expecting to see flashing purple light where only the calm beige walls of his own bedroom greeted him. It had been so real. So fresh in his memory, like it had just happened…

Instead of seventeen years ago.

He stood up, ignoring the tent in his sweats and wandered into the kitchen. It was four in the morning and only the street lamps provided some cold, dimmed light. He filled himself a glass of water and drank greedily, throat dry from the dream. The memory.

Suddenly he was that half teen, half young adult again and he watched Peter’s face twist with pain as he told him that they had to end it.

_“What do you mean… I thought we were together in this!”, Peter said, voice small and broken._

_If Talia found out… If Gerard found out…_

_Chris was dying from the inside but his heart remained steady. His eyes stung but his face remained stoic and emotionless._

_“You thought wrong”, he hissed._

Peter hadn’t taken it well. But he had believed him immediately.

Chris didn’t know what hurt more.

And then, a month later as he watched Peter disappear into a spare bedroom with Corrine Devenrow during a party at Tim’s house, then he knew what hurt the most.

Peter’s daughter looked around sixteen. That meant she had probably happened around that time too.

Chris threw his glass into a wall where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of this story, Stiles doesn’t know what blue eyes mean on a wolf. But Chris does.


	3. Behind blue eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title by Limp Bizkit.

The news that the Hales had bought the old bookstore and planned to turn it into a _night club_ of all things traveled around the small town with the speed of the light. Some were furious and scandalized. Some were ecstatic. After _Jungle_ had closed up a few years ago there were no good party places in Beacon Hills after all.

However, the rumor mill didn’t stop there. Peter Hale, all healed and looking like a Magic Mike, driving that monstrosity of a motorbike and now apparently a father too, was the hot topic of every gossip. His nephew Derek, much more closed off and mysterious, had also managed to become a wet dream for a good part of the population, even though he was rarely seen in public and seemed to never, ever smile.

And then there was Malia. As a true Hale she turned a lot of heads on her first day at the local high school, and not just because Derek dropped her off in a shiny black Camaro. She walked with her head held up, an aura of confidence and don’t-give-a-fuck attitude all around her as her long wavy hair fluttered behind her, lips stretched in an all-too-familiar-smirk. Her father’s child, really.

Peter moped and sulked like a brat that day since he’d been forbidden to see Malia off on her first day of school. Apparently because _“first, that’s not my_ actual _first day of school, ever”_ and “ _it’s not cool to have a meddling father when you are almost 17, duuuh!?”_

“Oh, but Derek’s okay, huh?”, he grumped.

“Uh, yeah, because he’s just a few years older and looks like a cool big brother and has a nice ride”, she declared with her mouth full of Nutella.

“I’ll have you know…!”, Peter began but Derek sighed and rolled his eyes, pushing a stack of papers closer to him.

“Stop whining and take a look at these”, he said, nodding at the schemes, interior visualizations and other plans for the club. He then visibly paused and his voice was softer when he added. “And… we should start looking for somewhere permanent. To live.”

Peter flinched, quickly covering it with a patented smirk.

“I realize you might need your own Alpha place, scent marked and all but…”

“Peter, we still own the land”, Derek added softly.

_The memories of laugher and first steps and a Christmas around the big tree… The scent of gingerbread and his mother’s stew and autumn in the back yard… the feeling of cozy pillows, sheets with his own scent and the throb of home and Pack… The smell of smoke, ash and burning flesh… The excruciating pain of being burned alive…_

Peter couldn’t hide that wince.

“I can’t…”, he wheezed.

“We can’t just sublet for the rest of our lives…”, Derek tried to reason, making Peter snap, eyes flashing bright supernatural blue.

“You can drop your overcompensating Alpha need to provide for your meager Pack just because you still blame yourself for killing your whole family!”, he hissed.

Derek’s face paled and his muscles grew taut. He clenched his jaw and the scent of pain and hurt and guilt hit Peter like a punch. He wanted to take it back, didn’t want to upset his Alpha, what was it with his fucked up whiplash defense mechanisms?!

Malia stood there awkwardly, eyes wide and scent nervous, jar of Nutella long forgotten. Derek’s head turned minutely in her direction and he said, without looking at either of them,

“Get ready. You’ll be late for school.”

He was almost out of the kitchen when he heard Malia mutter “Well done, _father_.”

* * *

Chris looked around the shop, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. He didn’t need to be here actually. Work was long done and Stiles had gone home hours ago. Chris should have too. But he kind of hated his own home and its damn silence right now.

A regular guy wouldn’t have heard the footsteps behind him, quiet as they were, the almost non-existent sound of a stalking predator. But someone with his training wasn’t just any regular guy. And he anticipated the voice he had never quite forgotten when Peter drawled,

“New job, I notice. Not enough weres in town to prey on?”

“You’ll be surprised”, he huffed, turning around to face the infuriating man. “So now we know each other?”, he forced on a smirk. And then, because he had to be sure, “Or just when the pup’s not around?”

Blue eyes flashed immediately and Peter snarled viciously around his fangs.

“Stay the hell away from her.”

Chris nodded, suspicion confirmed.

“They used to be yellow”, he blurted out, that dream, that memory still haunting him.

Peter smiled toothily, in that way that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You know what they mean, right, Argent? The blue eyes”, he hissed.

Chris nodded slowly. “Wh… How?”, he asked instead.

Peter laughed bitterly. “You know, my own nephew thought it was because I had killed his sister. To gain power”, he huffed. “I was barely out of a coma, still barely on my feet and trying to heal the….”

Scars. Molten skin. Peter flinched.

“He was ready to finish me off, blind with rage and grief. And then he looked into my eyes. They were still yellow back then. Laura managed to pass on the Alpha spark to him before she died, so he knew they wouldn’t be red but he still expected blue; the eyes of a murderer. It took us both some time to find out what really happened.”

“What happened?”, Chris echoed.

“It was _your kind_ ”, Peter spat out venomously. “Hunters killed Laura and tried to blame me. Just so they could watch us, the last two Hales trying to kill each other in our delusion.”

He was trembling, rage still boiling inside of him at the memory, the nerve of those hunters…

“So when we figured it out. I found them. And I killed them. _Every last one of them_.”

When he turned back to face Chris his eyes were that bright, angry blue, even if his lips were smiling a bitter smile.

“They tried to blame you, you know. As they begged for their lives. They said that _you_ sent them after Laura. _You_ ordered them to finish Kate’s job and wipe us all out.” 

Chris shook his head, eyes honest and heartbeat steady when he said,

“I didn’t. I had nothing to do with the fire. Or Laura.”

Peter snorted. “I know”, he tapped his ear. “Hunter tricks don’t work when they’re scared for their lives. They can’t control their heartbeat with claws imbedded in their throats. So I know. I heard the lie.”

“I caught Kate. Gave her to the Calaveras to deal with her”, Chris admitted.

“Ah. The hunter court. How… _noble_ ”, Peter sneered.

“I’m not a hunter anymore”, Chris said.

Peter looked around pointedly before fixing him with a guarded look, never quite trusting anything and anyone; never again.

“So it _seems_.”

“I also have a daughter”, Chris continued, somehow desperate to make Peter believe him. “I gave up hunting. I had to get as far away from it as possible. This life is no way to raise a child.”

“Ah”, Peter mock-nodded. “Figured it out, did you?”

“…I was a child, too, Peter…”

“So was I!”, he yelled, features contorted with pain, a barely there glimpse he let slip before the mask was back again. “But we all have to live with our choices. Be it blue eyes or all the ‘what if’-s. Isn’t that so?”, he said quietly, eyes boring into Chris’ very soul.

And then, in another heartbeat and another blink, Peter was gone, same as before, like another dream haunting him.

* * *

Peter sat alone in the darkness, facing the mangled remains of his childhood. It was not just a house, not just a memory. It was everything that could have been.

Derek… Derek had also been just another child, a little naïve, a little blind with grief after his first unfortunate love and desperate for a better, happier one. It had been so easy for Kate to manipulate him and Peter couldn’t really blame his nephew for succumbing; it would be hypocritical if he did.

Argents sure knew how to charm people when they wanted to.

They had only a seven years gap between them, Derek and him. His nephew was almost 17 and Peter was 24 when the fire happened. It felt like a blink and when he had next opened his eyes there was a 24yo Derek, snarling in his face and ready to kill him for apparently killing Laura? It had taken him a horrible long time to figure it all out. He had been in a coma for seven fucking years. He had fucking turned 30, was already 31 by the time he came back to himself. And Derek thought that… what?

But they had worked through it. Found out the real killers and dealt with them. Peter was still unstable most days, prone to flares of blind anger or an encompassing depression and Derek was subtly trying to hint about therapy while firmly denying that he himself needed some when Malia had happened.

She had appeared one day on their doorstep in their small flat in NY, completely out of the blue. There was no need to ask who she was or demand paternity tests – she smelled like his and the pull he felt was undeniable. There was his cub, his child he never knew he had. And who had ran out to him after a failed blood test and as soon as she had found out about him.

Finding her mother and fighting her for the full custody had taken _years_ and was just another something that had left him exhausted and hollow, untethered in a way that Derek couldn’t fix, too young of an Alpha and their bond still too rocky after everything. Scrambling for something he couldn’t name – roots, familiarity, memories? – he had suggested going back to Beacon Hills and that’s how their strange mismatched mix of a family had found themselves back here.

He heard the crunch of leaves and branches behind him – his nephew wasn’t trying to be silent. Peter didn’t turn.

“Was it a mistake to come back?”, he asked quietly.

Derek took a long moment to respond, slowly sitting down next to him and also looking at the broken shell of a house.

“I don’t know yet. I guess it’s too early to tell”, he said.

Peter nodded, agreeing. He turned to look at his nephew, the Alpha he never expected to one day have.

“What I said earlier... You know I don’t blame you, right?”

Derek nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“I’m grateful for that. Doesn’t mean you couldn’t.”

“You were a child.” _We all were_. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Derek gulped dryly and tried for a smile. It came off painful and bitter but he still tried.

“I’m sorry that I pushed you earlier”, he said. “I shouldn’t have.”

Peter hmm-ed, looking at the wreck. “Or maybe you had to and you were right.”

He faced his nephew again. “I was thinking about something downtown, closer to the club. A flat or a loft or something. Just… this land we have is not completely out of question but. Not yet.”

“Not for a while”, Derek nodded, understanding. “Alright. I’ll look into what’s for sale downtown.”

Peter nodded back. They sat there in silence for a while.


	4. Sweet child of mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet child of mine by Guns'N'Roses.

“I found something”, Derek said out of the blue, yet straight to the point.

“Yeah? Well, good for you, nephew”, Peter smirked, sipping from his coffee with what Malia called his ‘ultimate villain smile’. Derek rolled his eyes.

“I mean, a home.”

That obviously caught Peter’s interest. He left his mug on the table and gave Derek that intense look of full attention that usually got people nervous. Derek was used to it. It even made his lips twitch with a smile of their own as he continued,

“It has a great location…”

“Let me stop you right there, nephew. Because you said the same thing about our last apartment…”

“And it was a fact!”

“It was a shoebox, Derek! And it still cost a small fortune!”

“Because it was in _Manhattan_ , for fuck’s sake!”

“Are the native people there dwarves?!”

Derek sighed, feeling a headache throbbing behind his temples. “Well at least take a look at this one, because it has the bonus of coming for free.”

“Huh?”, Peter frowned.

Derek smirked. “It just so happens… that we own the building.”

* * *

Peter stared at the building with that unmistakable look on his face that made Derek sigh and rub the bridge of his nose.

“Nephew. You are aware we have money, correct?”

Yep. There it was.

“ _Yes_ , uncle…”, he hissed through clenched teeth.

“We can buy not one but two apartments downtown and still live comfortably, even _if_ the club fails.”

“I wasn’t trying to…”

“Which is to say… what were you thinking?! That is an abandoned building, Derek!”

Derek sighed again. He did so a lot around his uncle.

“I’m not suggesting to live here as it is. We can make it whatever we like, not just settle for what the agents present us with!”

The calculating glint in those sky blue eyes showed that Peter actually considered this. Derek latched onto that.

“One word: space. For the cars and your bike, for Malia and all her teenage drama…”, a dramatic pause (he _was_ related to Peter, after all), “closets for your clothes and shoes.”

He knew that had been his winning card, just the right thing to say, when a small, reluctant smile spread on Peter’s lips and he caved without really doing so.

“I guess I can see the appeal…”

* * *

He was doing it on purpose. Coming back to town, buying a building that was right across the street from the shop…

Working on the site half-naked.

Chris gulped dryly.

Right across the street Peter Hale, wearing only a pair of ripped old jeans, heaved a heavy looking wooden beam on his very naked (and wide) shoulder, muscles on his back flexing enchantingly as he walked into the old bookstore. He had back dimples. That was new. And Chris was screwed.

Everyone around him worked with their shirts on for fuck’s sake, along with a bright neon vest and a damn safety helmet. But no, not Peter fucking Hale. He was above that. And wasn’t he too much of a primadonna to actually take part of any actual labor?!

The dreamy sigh right next to Chris brought him back to earth and he remembered that he wasn’t alone. And that Peter was not the only one working half naked.

Derek wiped a hand across his sweaty brow before he bent down to take another pillar, his back and a simple triskele tattoo facing the street. His sculptured body was just as shiny with perspiration. He was muscular like his uncle yet obviously younger and Chris guessed he made a good uh… private-time material for someone barely in his twenties.

Like Stiles.

Who stood next to Chris gaping like a fish out of water.

He snorted. “Wipe your mouth off, kid, you’re drooling.”

Stiles’ mouth closed with an audible click and his head snapped around to give Chris a venomous glare. He made a point of lowering his eyes down Chris’ body. He smirked darkly.

“You’re one to talk, boss.”

Chris didn’t have to look down to see the slight tent in his own jeans. Nor did he have to strain his ears to hear Peter’s snicker, right across the street.

Well, he’d had that coming.

Pun and all.

* * *

They had just stopped for a break, gulping down water at the newly installed bar counter when the screech of tires foretold the arrival of,

“Your spawn, I believe”, Derek quipped, both of them watching as Malia hopped out of the sports car Peter had bought for her and made her way into the old bookstore. She looked around with more disdain rather than curiosity before her eyes stopped on them both.

“Doesn’t look much like a club to me”, she said.

“Well, that’s because we barely started to work on it, jeez”, Peter rolled his eyes.

“You? Working in construction?”, she laughed, followed by the same eye-roll as her dad’s. “Yeah, right. Derek, sure. But you? Never.” 

“Then what am I doing here?”, Peter shot back.

“Flaunting yourself. I just haven’t figured out yet who you’re putting on the show for.”

Derek hid a smirk in his water bottle. Peter gritted his teeth.

“Forget… that. What are _you_ doing here?”, he asked.

Malia blew a bright pink bubble with her gum before she declared,

“I need money.”

Blunt and straightforward. Another something she had inherited from Peter.

“How much?”, he asked.

“Twenty.”

“What for?”

“Drugs, sex, alcohol, what do you care?”, she snapped.

Jesus, when would the rebellious teen phase pass?!

He pulled out his wallet and a few bills, giving her more than she asked for. She reached out but he pulled back at the last moment. She scoffed and opened her mouth, no doubt ready to spit out another accusation or offence. Peter beat her to it.

“I won’t tell you to make smart choices. If _I_ had, _you_ wouldn’t have happened. Stay alive. That’s all I ask.”

She paused for a second, never good with emotions and bonding. Then she took the money and was gone.

She couldn’t really hate him if she had insisted she wanted to live with him, Peter reminded himself. That, or she hated her mother more, a little voice in his head snipped.

Derek leaned on the bar counter next to him.

“Is that really how you should raise your kid? Bribing her with money? That’s not gonna buy you love, you know?”

“And how many kids do _you_ have?”, Peter snapped, before he strode away determinedly.

The way he always dealt with problems of any kind.

* * *

It was just after three in the morning when the front door opened and closed with a click. Malia didn’t turn on the lights. She didn’t need them.

“Had a good time?”, a voice carried from the shadows.

She flinched, tripping and staggering into the stupid end table and the key bowl, which broke deafeningly on the floor. Great, now Derek was awake too. If he had been sleeping at all.

“You scared the shit out of me!”, she hissed.

Peter took a step into the moonlit living room, eerily silent. It was all there in his eyes though, everything they never shared, everything they didn’t know how to talk about.

 _So did you_.

He forced on a smile and left his mug on the table.

“Well, goodnight then”, was all he said.

The mug was still steaming. A look into the small kitchenette showed a half-full pot. She winced, her eyes closing when Peter stopped by the door of his bedroom and added quietly,

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Like he hadn’t been sure she would bother. Like it wasn’t something he took for granted.

The door closed behind him. She let out a shaky sigh, fingers raking through her hair. Her mother’s words were still ringing in her ears.

_“He never does things without having something to gain for himself…”_

_“All he does is use people. And hurt them…”_

_“He’s too broken to love, Malia! You or whoever else! Whatever you expect from him, don’t!”_

Malia heaved another sigh and took a sip from Peter’s still hot coffee.


	5. Hole in my soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hole in my soul by Apocalyptica.
> 
> P.S. Um... I'll be glad to know what you think of this story so far? Thoughts? Yes? No?

Malia stared at the ugly dent in her rear bumper with a frown. Peter would make that face. His “am I sure you can actually drive” face. Or worse, his “are you alright!!!??” face. Or, worst, his “who hit you, I’m gonna kill them!” face. Which, stupid fucking pole. Meaning, “am I sure you can actually drive”.

It was in the blind spot!

Ugh!

She pulled out her phone, googling the closest mechanic. Turned out, there was only one in Beacon Hills. Small town and all.

“Just peachy!”, she growled, getting back into the car and driving off at the direction google maps gave her.

* * *

She parked in front of the garage, still a bit miffed that she had to be here at all. Peter was never gonna let her live that down! She stepped inside, looking around the vast space. Which… looked kind of deserted right now.

“Hello?”, she called.

“I’ll be right there!”, someone called from the back. He sounded young. Hopefully not totally incompetent then. Ugh, she was starting to sound like Peter.

“Hey, sorry for making you wait, boss just took a break so…”, the voice said, now closer. She turned back around.

He was probably just a few years older but not much. His brown hair was a total sexy mess and a warm smile took most of his face. And his eyes, big and just as warm, like melted caramel. A body like his shouldn’t impress her, considering she lived with two werewolves; but where her father and Derek were all muscles this guy was on the leaner side, shoulders still wide enough to match her cousin’s. His hands were big and strong, currently wet as he wiped them on a towel.

If she ended up in those hands, Malia wanted to be a towel.

“Um. Miss…?”, he lifted an eyebrow expectantly.

She shook her head to clear the fog.

“Uh, Hale. Malia Hale”, she choked out.

The smile widened.

“Well, that explains a lot”, he winked. “I’m Stiles.”

She was doomed.

* * *

“What do you mean you need a ride? Where’s your car?”, Peter inquired.

_There we go._

Malia took a deep, fortifying breath before she answered. “Um. At the shop. Nothing serious, just a scratch…”

“Which shop?”

Well. That was unexpected?

“Uh, well it turns out there’s only this one…”

Peter grabbed her upper arms and stared at her with eyes that were wide and a little wild.

“Right across the club?”, he asked, voice strangely on edge.

“Y-yeah? Peter, what..?”

His grip tightened. He even shook her a bit for emphasis.

“I don’t want you to go there alone, never alone! Do you understand!?”

“But, my car…”

“I’ll pick up the car!”, he roared, making her flinch in his arms. He noticed that and when he next spoke his voice was a lot softer. “I’ll… pay and all. It’ll be easier that way.”

“P…”, she tried.

“You can have my car till then”, he hastily added.

“What’s going…”, she insisted.

He thrusted his car keys in her hand.

“Not a scratch or I’ll make you pay for it!”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He didn’t flinch and didn’t look away. Those eyes made it perfectly clear: he wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t spill. She knew she had inherited her stubbornness from him. And she knew she couldn’t beat him in this game.

Very well then.

“How about the bike?”, she blinked, eyes big, round and pleading.

He snorted. “Nice try, kid.”

“Wha-! But you _can_ drive it around…!”

“Yes, I _can_. Emphasis on can. And where is your car? In the shop.”

“Come ooon, what can possibly happen…”

“It _is_ dangerous…”

“…to your were-daughter…”

“Ah, and since I’m your father – and thank you for making a point! – and you are a minor I get to decide and the answer is no!”

“Ugh!”, she growled, rolling her eyes.

She hated when he got all fatherly protective. Now she needed another excuse to meet Stiles.

* * *

Derek killed the engine, the quiet purr reduced to deafening silence. They both stared at the double metal doors. No one moved.

“Are you sure…?”, Derek began.

“I’m not seventeen anymore, Derek”, Peter snapped.

His nephew nodded awkwardly. He knew, of course he knew about Peter’s short teenage romance, even if he’d found out just recently.

Therapy was a bitch.

That and there were things you couldn’t keep a secret in a Pack. If Peter knew about Kate, Derek knew about Chris.

Peter took a deep breath and stepped out of the Camaro and into the shop. Chris was right there, as if waiting for him. Maybe he was; Peter _had_ taken his time to come out of Derek’s car after all.

“I’m here for a red Viper”, he said coldly, all business.

“I thought black suited you more”, Chris prodded.

“Hmm”, Peter wasn’t gonna bite. “Keys and the bill please.”

“I heard it was your daughter’s…”, Chris didn’t give up.

“She’s busy. Keys and bill. _Please_ ”, Peter bit back with just a hint of an animalistic growl.

“Meaning you didn’t let her come back”, Chris deduced, frown full of offence. “I wouldn’t hurt your child, Peter, who do you take me for?”

“An Argent”, Peter answered simply as if that summed up everything.

The silence was a lot more awkward here than it had been in the Camaro.

Chris’ frown deepened, even if a bitter smile played on those lips as he said,

“Yeah. Can’t escape that, can I?”

He threw the keys, right into Peter’s hand and turned back around.

“The bill?”, Peter reminded.

“It’s on the house”, Chris grunted.

“I don’t need your pity…!”

“And I don’t need your money”, Chris snapped back. “Tell Malia she needs better brakes for that car.”

And with that he was gone, leaving a quietly seething Peter behind.

* * *

_“You’ve been all mopey lately. What’s up, dad?”_

Chris huffed, lifting his eyes to meet Allison’s through the small skype window. She had her grandmother’s eyes, thank God. Not blue like his own and not green like Victoria’s. It was easier to look at them and not see his late wife.

He forced on a smile and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well. My only child lives hundredths of miles away…”

_“Dad. We talked about this.”_

He lifted his hands in surrender. “You asked.”

 _“That’s not what bothers you”,_ she prodded gently.

“It always…”

_“Dad.”_

He sighed. “The sins of our family have come back to haunt me, that’s all.”

She was immediately alerted. _“Is there a problem? Is it a pack with some of its members hunted by Argents? An Alpha out for blood? I can catch the next fli-…”_

“Al. There’s no immediate danger. I think.”

_“But you said…”_

“There’s… someone. Someone from my past’s back in town.”

_“…Oh.”_

“It’s not that way”, he added quickly.

_“What way? I haven’t said anything!”_

“Al…”

 _“But if I had”,_ she interrupted him. _“I would have said that it’s been five years. You_ are _allowed to date, you know?”_

He snorted. “That’s… not an option, believe me.”

_“Dad, no one’s gonna sue you for…”_

“We have a history.”

 _“A… bad history?”,_ she asked gently.

“You can say so. Look, we were just stupid kids. We’re not anymore and a lot of shit happened in between. There’s a lot of bad blood between us. And he’s never going to forget that.”

_“Dad… was he your first love?”_

Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted how easily she took the male pronoun; she’d always known, he guessed, even if they’d never discussed his bisexuality. But the chaos this simple question had just caused had nothing to do with coming out of a closet but a realization of another kind.

Love. Had it been love when they had been young and stupid and Chris’ whole world had been gathered in those innocent golden-blue eyes? Had it been love when they had been each other’s first and he couldn’t imagine it being anyone else? Had it been love when the betrayal in Peter’s eyes as Chris ended it had left a huge gaping hole in Chris’ own soul?

“Yeah”, he choked out. “I think he was.”

 _“Dad”,_ Allison called again. It took a second to be able to meet her eyes again but when he did she was smiling softly. “ _Just because it won’t be easy doesn’t mean you should give up. That’s not in your nature. And… I think you should try.”_

He snorted again, which turned into a sputter at her next words.

 _“And by try I mean try to catch Peter in his own way, his own domain. Don’t be a hunter. Be a wolf. And go clubbing_ ”, she winked.

“Wh-… Ho-…”, he choked again.

She rolled her eyes like the damn brat that she was. _“Bad blood, as in dearest auntie burned down their whole life? That leaves just Derek and Peter. And if you were teens back then it couldn’t have been Derek. I’m not an idiot, dad.”_

No. She was a scary smart young woman and Chris would be proud if he wasn’t too stunned for that right now.

“I…”

_“Wear the black jeans Scott and I gave you last Christmas.”_

“Uh…”

_“Don’t make it look like we’re more invested in your love life than you are!”_

“Y-you…”

_“Don’t get back to me without good news! Love you, bye!”_

His daughter was scary.

Victoria would be proud.


	6. Black panther

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black panther is a song by Nebezao. THE only one here that is NOT a rock song. Also, THE inspiration for this story: the club scene is what started this fic at all ;) 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to all THREE people reviewing :D You rock :)

Be a wolf to catch a wolf. And woo Peter in a way that would really get through to him, impress him.

Easier said than done. Especially considering Peter didn’t trust him even with his kid’s _car_.

Meanwhile the (re)construction work across the street was gradually coming to an end. And an opening date was set. Chris stared at the flyer Stiles had left on the shop’s counter. It had a simple, no-nonsense design with three bold letters: MDP.

“Malia says it stands for Most Definitely Psycho”, Stiles chuckled, nodding at the flyer at Chris’ hands.

“You know Malia Hale?”, Chris frowned.

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, we’ve met a few times around town, after we fixed her car; bumped into each other at the deli the other day. She wanted to buy me coffee as a thanks.”

Chris leveled him with a look. “Uh-huh.”

Stiles snorted. “Come on. She’s a _Hale_. I’m just a local nobody.”

Chris shook his head. “You need to wake up, kid. And buy a mirror.”

Stiles blinked. “Was that a compliment, boss?”

Chris ignored him, taking his coffee mug and heading to the back to take a look at the list of parts he needed to order.

“Wait, am I attractive to older people?!”, the brat screeched behind him making him roll his eyes. “I need to know, okay!?”

Some days Chris regretted ever coming back to Beacon Hills.

* * *

Friday the 13th. Of course he’d choose a date like that for an opening.

Chris stared at those damn tight black jeans Alison and Scott had given him, he was sure, as a gag gift. He had to be mad to even consider them. He was almost 40, for fuck’s sake. It was ridiculous.

It was inevitable.

Just like the pull Peter had always had on him.

And just like that he found himself in front of the club, dressed in those ridiculous black jeans and a blue shirt Alison claimed brought out his eyes. What was he hoping for, he had no idea. The crowd was wild, the que well into the next block as the bouncers glared down any attempt to buy one’s way into the club. One of the town’s most arrogant brats, the next Jackson Whittemore if Chris had ever seen one, was just about to make a scene when the thunderous roar of a powerful engine foretold the arrival of the devil himself.

The car screeched to a halt right in front of the entrance.

And Peter Hale stepped out of it with the grace and the look of a pure sin.

The pristine white dress shirt was in a stark contrast with the black Porsche Panamera and hugged Peter’s lean muscular body in a way that left close to nothing to imagination. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms and big hands that promised equal knowledge in pleasure and pain. Dark grey pants hung low on his trim waist, held by a black belt with a simple, stylish design. His ass looked just as amazing in those pants as it had in those ripped jeans. But there was just something… something about Peter in formal wear, something that made it impossible to look away. He was always confident, no matter where and when, but there, now… he was the owner. The boss.

The bouncer stepped away immediately when Peter approached, nodding politely. Peter nodded back and stopped right next to the man who leaned to hear better what his boss told him. The bouncer nodded again and Peter strode casually inside the club.

Chris had no idea when he had followed him. He suddenly found himself at the entrance, as if enthralled. The bouncer smirked and stepped away again without any questions.

The club was dark, pulsing with the sensual beat and with the bright neon lights, flashing now and then. People danced, grinding against each other in a way that promised more, soon. Others stood by the bar or in the shady booths, sipping from their drinks, heads moving with the beat. The music was strange – while there was some exotic note in it, it took him some time to realize the words were actually Russian.

“Твое тело просто сeкс (сeкс, сeкс, сeкс)…

Допиваю последний Кэс (кэс, кэс, кэс)...”

His Russian was a bit rusty with disuse lately but he once knew it quite well to

understand the lyrics. A smile bloomed on his lips with the next few lines.

“…черная пантера в черной Панамере

Ее чертовы манеры — мои черные намерения…”

Was it just a coincidence? Peter was whimsical enough to buy a car just for a song he liked. Did he know the meaning of the lyrics too?

The crowd parted for a second revealing just the man himself. Who was staring straight at Chris. There was a drink in his hand, neat, Chris noted, and a predatory glint in his eyes. And yes, he decided – Peter knew exactly what the song said and it was all there in his eyes, a dark promise of dark intensions. 

Those eyes flashed supernaturally blue right as a slow bastard smirk pulled on those sinuous lips and Peter turned around.

The chase was on.

* * *

So many hands touched him, fingers digging into his flesh, fingers crawling to places they usually had no right to be. Everything was allowed in a club. People came here to lose some tension, some stress… some inhibitions. Some clothes.

It was the perfect place to lure your prey. Even if the prey was a hunter.

 _Oh, you must learn not to play with a predator_.

Some touches lingered. Peter let them, making sure to keep eye-contact with his prey. It was not just a game. It was _his_ game. He was a natural flirt and where it had once been sweet and innocent it was now damn near pornographic. He’d been called a slut – often, in high school. Right after he had learned to never bother with feelings. A lot of time had passed since then. A lot of bed partners. He had long ago gotten rid of any inhibitions. A woman plastered herself on his side, a man – on his back. Peter’s hand crawled up her leg and under her minimalistic dress; his other hand slid back in the man’s hair and tugged, hard. _He_ was the master. _He_ was in control.

Both of them moaned and Peter smirked: he knew how to build up tension with simple touches. His eyes never left the other pair of blue though. It wasn’t a tease. It was a dare.

_Look at me._

He pushed his dance partners into a heated kiss and slipped from between the two of them, slowly making their way to the back door. He could feel those cold blue eyes burning at the back of his neck. _Good_.

More hands touched him, begged him to come play. Some he indulged, for a stolen moment or two. But he had other plans.

He met Derek by the bar. He was technically behind it, yet he made no move to help the bartenders, arms crossed and muscles bulging threateningly. His expression was dark. Disapproving.

“You’re playing with fire”, he said.

“Oh, I’m an _expert_ with fire, nephew”, he answered, his smirk just as menacing.

He finally stepped outside. The night was his kingdom, the moon – his aide. Now he just needed to lie low in wait. 

* * *

The door bounced from the brick wall with a bang as Chris ran outside, looking around like a madman. Damn the teasing bastard! He was faster, Chris couldn’t deny that, and knew the terrain better…

Something slammed into him, pressing him into the wall, blocking any move, any counterattack. Peter’s voice was infuriatingly smug in his ear.

And sexy.

“Stop making excuses for getting yourself in this position”, his hand crawled down his body, more of a sensual tease rather than a pat-down. “You even came unarmed. How horribly… naïve.”

“If you wanted me dead I would be by now”, Chris countered.

Peter hummed thoughtfully. “True”, he conceded.

“That still doesn’t answer what you _do_ _want_ from me.”

Peter smiled charmingly. But there was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he leaned in, his lips mere millimeters from Chris’, breath tickling and making the hunter tense with something else than fear or wariness.

“You see, Christopher”, Peter rumbled, voice so low it was almost a purr. It made goosebumps break on Chris’ skin and his breath hitched. “There are animals”, Peter’s nose rubbed into Chris’, barely; Chris’ eyes slipped close “that like to play with their prey.”

“Like panthers?”, he panted, hating how weak his voice sounded.

“Like blue-eyed wolves.”

The whisper carried into the night.

When Chris opened his eyes again he was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT question: while this story IS finished it is also in the process of being posted so: do we want an M-rated scene by the end? I have an idea, not really sure if I want to go through it though. Talk to me guys, I can just leave it like that or I can add some smut. Your choice.


	7. Never, never

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never, never - title and lyrics by Korn.

Peter sipped from his coffee, staring into nothing with a self-satisfied smirk.

Malia stared.

“You know that’s why people call you creepy, right?”

Peter turned to her with a radiant smile. “Whatever do you mean, daughter?”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop being so smiley and… chirpy in the morning. It’s unbecoming. You opened a club last night, shouldn’t you still be wolfsbane-wasted?”

“One, wolfsbane is not something to play with. Two, I know _you_ aren’t hungover so _why so serious_?”, he grinned manically.

“Now _that_ suits you more”, she pointed, making him chuckle.

She had just gotten herself another cup of coffee and joined her father at the table when the front door slid open with a nasty screech making them both wince.

“Why did I agree to this place?”, Peter bemoaned.

“I’d go with Derek Alpha talked you”, Malia suggested and they toasted on that with their coffee mugs.

“Speaking of the devil…”, Peter murmured.

Derek stalked into the kitchen, a ball of anger and frustration.

“I need your car”, he demanded.

“What is with people always needing my car these days?!”, Peter exclaimed.

“Mine won’t start”, Derek sulked.

“Oh! There’s a service shop…”, Malia immediately perked up.

“Which we do not patron”, Peter growled, smile gone.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what your problem is, Stiles is a nice guy…”

“ _Is he now_ ”, the growl became more menacing.

Derek frowned. “What’s a Stiles?”

* * *

Stiles stepped out of the shower, feeling more like a human being once he had cleaned up the dirt and grime. Luckily he had spare clothes at work – his first outfit was all covered in motor oil and he wasn’t even sure it was salvageable. It wasn’t even noon yet but that old Cadillac had proven to be a real piece of… work. Yep. That was his job, wasn’t it?

Still. He was allowed to like some cars better than others.

Like the black Panamera that stopped right in front of the shop.

Or the fucking wet dream who stepped out of it.

Derek Hale looked around and hesitated. It was obvious something was holding him back and Stiles would bet it was the name _Argent_ on the sign. He took a deep breath and stepped in, eyes immediately zeroing on Stiles. For a moment it looked like they lingered, especially on the younger man’s still slightly damp hair and white t-shirt. Yes, okay, Stiles knew it was a touch too small. It was an old one, he hadn’t really expected to need to wear it!

But Derek staring at him looked like wishful thinking on Stiles’ part, especially once the man’s frown deepened and he strode over determinedly. Stiles stood there like an idiot, glued to his spot and speechless.

“Hello. I’m Derek…”

“Hale. Have to be. Obviously”, Stiles blurted _. Damn it, fuck you no-brain-to-mouth-filter! Better to have remained speechless_.

A thick eyebrow was lifted. “And you are?”

“Your sex slave, just say the words.”

He wanted to slap himself as soon as the words left his mouth. _Really, Stiles?!_

Derek’s eyes hardened, his whole posture tensed and he growled out a single “No” before he turned around and promptly left.

 _Well, fuck me_ , Stiles thought.

Sadly, it didn’t seem very likely.

* * *

Peter laughed his ass off when Derek gruffly and reluctantly told him what had happened – he had to explain why he was going to keep Peter’s car for… however long it took to organize someone to tow his to the next town where there was hopefully another service shop. It’s not like his uncle needed his car so damn much, what with having the bike.

Once he’d had a good laugh at the kid’s misfortunate try at flirting he sobered some and said, voice deceptively even and calm,

“I’m sure he had no idea how what he said sounded to you. Or why you acted like you’d burned yourself. You know he was just being a brat, right?”

“You know the old house is not a haunted graveyard, right?”, Derek shot back.

He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Peter huffed.

“You’d actually make a good couple”, he muttered.

“I’m sorry”, Derek said. “That was… I just saw the flowers…”

“That’s because there’s no other place to honor them. We never made tombstones. What for? There are no bodies to bury under them. We got no ashes to scatter – just the burnt down remains of our life. So yes. That is my temple.”

“Peter…”

“Your mother loved pink roses if you were wondering.”

And with that, he left Derek to curse at himself and his lack of tact.

* * *

He stood there, silent and guilty at the face of destruction and loss. Some people said, Allison said that it wasn’t his fault. That he hadn’t done anything. But they all knew it was in his blood. The blame he had to carry. The responsibility for others’ mistakes.

“You have no right to be here.”

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked up.

Peter stood a few feet away from him, a bouquet of different flowers in his hand: lilies, sunflowers, pink roses and others Chris didn’t recognize. His eyes were cold and guarded. There was none of last night’s playfulness. Only bitterness. 

“I know you blame me. Trust me, I blame myself just as much…”, Chris began.

“Oh, I doubt that”, Peter hissed.

“But it wasn’t my hand that took away your home and your loved ones! You hate me for my last name. People can’t choose their family, Peter…”

“You did.”

It was like a slap across his face. And a reminder that it wasn’t just his last name Peter hated him for.

“Only to keep _you_ safe!”, Chris burst out, making a bird above startle and fly away with a cry. “From your sister, from Gerard…” He snorted bitterly. “Much good that did.”

The silence was pressing, painful. Peter didn’t ask. Didn’t offer anything. He just stood there staring at him with a blank, guarded expression. Not that Chris expected anything else. Whatever trust had been there, between the two of them, was long gone.

“I’m not asking you to love me…”, he began.

Peter huffed out a sound that wasn’t a laugh, wasn’t mocking. Just a quiet disbelieve.

“And I know trust is earned but. Will it always be like this from now on?”, Chris whispered.

It was a small town. They were bound to see each other, often. Not to mention they worked right across the street from each other.

Peter’s cold blue eyes flicked over to the wreck of a house. The ghost of many nightmares, pain that was both emotional and quite physically literal made his face twist briefly before he schooled it back in its usual mask of indifference.

“You know what they say. Once burned…”, he hissed, turning around to leave without really taking his eyes off the hunter.

“Peter!”, Chris called, frustrated in his helplessness.

“I don’t only mean the fire.”

It wasn’t even above a whisper. It felt like another slap.

It was a promise Peter Hale had made to himself, all those years ago. A promise he had kept. A rule he had never broken with any of his many lovers.

_“_ _I'll never love again (no)  
I will ever have to pretend (no)  
I'm never gonna love again  
Never gonna have to try to pretend  
Never, never, never_ _…_ _”_

“What about last night?”, Chris pushed.

It actually made Peter pause.

“Oh, we can fool around. That’s not love. It’s actually called hate sex and I’m good at it. Want me to show you?”

It was tempting. If that was all he could have maybe he should take that chance. And yet…

A distant memory played in his mind - a shaky smile, eyes – wide open and vulnerable, soul - still pure and innocent, bare like the body he held, for only him to see…

“No.”

“Your loss”, Peter shrugged, finally turning and walking away.

Chris winced, eyes closing as if to stave off the pain.

Peter didn’t turn anymore.

* * *

It was after midnight when he came back home. The lights were almost all out and only the TV illuminated the huge open-space living room area. Malia had curled on the sofa, asleep. He sighed, shrugging off his jacket and sitting on the coffee table, eyes locked on her peaceful form. Everyone said she looked like him but he could see other Hale traits in her too. His mother’s nose. Laura’s teasing smile. Even a small mole under her left ear that she shared with Derek.

He felt himself smiling as he bent down to drape his jacket over her. Her hair smelled flowery. Roses maybe? Another something she shared with another Hale…

She stirred, opening bleary eyes and trying to see him.

“Peter?”, she asked.

“Mm. It’s late. Go back to sleep. But maybe do so in your bed since you’re already awake enough to move.”

There was no response – she had slipped back into unconsciousness, curled into his jacket. Something stirred in his chest, something he hadn’t really allowed himself to feel in a very long time.

_Never, never…?_

Whatever. It wasn’t _that_ kind of love. The thing he felt for his cub felt pure in a strictly parental way. Felt _safe_. It was allowed.

 _Just this time. Just this one_ , he promised to himself.


	8. Turn the page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turn the page is one of Metallica's less known songs. Give it a try. I certainly think it's worth it.
> 
> P.S. I really am grateful for the comments, few as they are. I get it: I only read complete fics too -_-` So, to those who started reading before it's all posted, thank you. There was a time when my temperament would get the better of me and my posting habits would depend on the reviews I get but I'd like to think I'm over that. I like how that fic came out, it means something to me and it will be posted no matter what. But, still, thanks for the support.

_“You can at least text me once in a blue moon. Since you don’t answer my calls. A mother deserves as much. You’re all I have left, you know.”_

Malia’s trembling fingers gripped the phone harder, rereading the message. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her vision blurred and she knew her eyes must have teared.

 _All I have left_. Once, that used to be something her mother blamed her for. If Malia hadn’t lost control over her shift her mother wouldn’t have crashed the car. Wouldn’t have lost her other child, the only human between the two of them. Wouldn’t have to live with the reminder of that for the rest of her life. It was Malia’s fault. And that was exactly what her mother told her, straight on.

It was during that hospital stay that everything came out. The messed up blood tests – her mother was B+, her supposed father too. Malia was A+. Questions arose. Everyone was quick to put the blame on the other and Malia was suddenly the wrong child alive. Or so she felt. That was all the little push she needed.

Finding Peter, even in the middle of his own mess, was like finding a piece of herself she had never known about. Something clicked. It wasn’t really a bond, they didn’t even know each other. It was being with her own kind without being judged. Something her werecoyote mother couldn’t provide.

And now that message.

“Watch out!”

She heard the yell but had no time to process it or even realize it had been meant for her. A strong hand gripped her and pulled back until she collided into a strong body. Tires screeched, a horn was blown. Her phone slipped between her numb fingers and fell on the ground.

Her knees buckled but her trembling fingers gripped her savior’s jacket hard. That and the man’s arms supporting her was the only thing keeping her up. A dry sob slipped between her chapped lips.

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s gonna be alright, kid.”

She looked up. The man was around Peter’s age, maybe a few years older. His blue eyes were full of concern for the stupid girl crossing the street while reading her messages.

“T-thanks… for the save”, she choked out.

He forced on a half-smile then looked back down and winced.

“Can’t say the same for your phone. And we should call your dad.”

Huh? He knew Peter?

“Malia!”

“Or not”, the stranger muttered right as Peter himself suddenly materialized next to them and tore her away from the man’s arms. His own hands gripped her face a tad too hard as his wild eyes inspected her for any wounds.

“I’m okay. He pulled me back on time. I’m okay”, she repeated.

Her words seemed to slowly sink into him. His gaze shifted to the man behind her.

“She was looking at her phone, didn’t see the car”, the stranger muttered.

Malia looked up. Peter’s eyes were still fixed on the man, wary and guarded. He nodded slowly. The man nodded back.

And then her father’s eyes shifted back on her.

“Texting while crossing the street, really?”, he huffed.

“It was mom”, she muttered.

He gritted his teeth. “Of course it was”, he hissed. Then he seemed to take a deep breath before he added, “Come. I’ll get you something to drink.”

But before they took off she could have sworn that her father’s eyes looked back at the stranger.

* * *

“So who is he?”, Malia asked.

“Hm? Who is who?”, Peter asked distractedly, reading the contract with one of the vendors.

She huffed. “The man from today. You obviously know each other.”

“It’s a small town.”

“Well?”

He sighed, throwing his pen over the papers and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“That boy, the one you’re so… infatuated with, from the service shop. That was his employer.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what else is he?”, she insisted. “Come on. I’m not blind.”

He fixed her with a look. “Just someone I slept with, a long time ago.”

“First of all, ew.”

“Hey, you asked!”

“Second, don’t bullshit me. That’s not all it was.”

Their eyes remained locked. “No. It’s not”, he admitted.

“Well? Why am I not allowed in his shop?”, she pushed.

“Because his family killed ours.”

That obviously managed to shut her up. For a while.

Peter grabbed his pen and got back to his paperwork.

“Did you love him?”, she asked quietly.

He snorted bitterly. “I was seventeen. Everything was life or death. Love and hate.”

“And then just hate?”, her voice was small and vulnerable.

He looked back, straight in her eyes. “And then I wasn’t seventeen anymore. And then I learnt there were many kinds of love and hate.”

He stood up, groaning as he stretched. His hand lingered on her shoulder as he walked past her. “There’s dinner in the oven and Nutella in the fridge. Don’t eat the whole jar.”

Malia smiled.

Many kinds of love and hate, indeed.

* * *

People were complex and confusing beings. Sure, some were shallow and vain but even they were hardly ever just that. People had their goals and inspirations, their good sides and dark sides, bad habits and weird little quirks. People were hard to get.

Apparently, wolves were too.

Peter Hale had many different faces. He could be a sexy arrogant club owner, proud and confident in what he did. He could be a predator, ready to pounce on his prey. And he could be a regular businessman, buried in paperwork on a slow Tuesday morning while sipping his coffee in the café conveniently located right next to the club.

Chris watched, leaned on the shop’s front door with his own coffee mug. Peter leaned on the wooden counter facing the street and took another sip of his coffee, frowning at some papers. He scribbled something on a side sheet and pulled out his phone, probably calculating something. He scratched something on the sheet, wrote something else and made more calculations, this time looking happier with the result.

Suddenly and out of nowhere, a car swiveled to a stop in front of the coffee shop. A familiar face, now tearstained and upset, stepped out of the vehicle and ran inside the café, throwing herself straight into Peter’s arms. He remained seated, even unprepared as he was for the attack, stunned as Malia’s arms wound up around his neck and she sobbed into his neck.

Then, carefully and so hesitantly, his own arms embraced her and held on as she cried, eventually even getting to gently rub her back. It was quite clear that he was shocked and that had never happened before but he took it in stride and acted like any father should: comforting their child and silently motioning for another hot beverage to the waiter above her head.

She pulled back some as her drink was delivered, seemingly choking on a laugh at the sight of what had to be the most chocolatey beverage ever. They exchanged a few words, Peter obviously asking the compulsory ‘what happened’ and Malia obviously answering, avoiding his eyes. Peter’s hand clenched into a fist over his papers.

Ah. A boy then. The joys of having a daughter. Chris could sympathize.

“Aw. Getting all soft for Growley McGrowl, boss?”

Chris sighed and turned around to level Stiles with a _look_. In was in vain, since Stiles’ eyes were actually fixed on the café on the other side of the street.

“It’s sweet and all but, you know, Darth Vader was a father too. Just saying.”

Chris bit back a snort, right before there was movement on the other side of the street and Stiles stepped back, sounding alarmed as he said,

“Uh-oh. Why is he coming this way?”

Peter strode determinedly, right into the shop where he pointed a finger straight at Stiles.

“You! With the funny name…”

“Oooh, you have no idea”, Stiles muttered.

“Stilettos or whatever!”

Chris couldn’t hold back any longer. He laughed, earning himself twin glares.

“How dare you break my daughter’s heart, you peasant!”

“Uh. There’s been a misunderstanding, Darth-Lord… uh, sir.”

Chris wasn’t even trying to hide his laugher anymore, tears running down his face as the drama unraveled right before his eyes.

“Uh. Like I told her, she’s hot, amazing and would make a man very happy…”

“Watch it, boy!”

“…but I play for the other team! And if anything, there’s another Hale I’m kind of very interested in!”

Peter blinked. Slowly. Then he took a step back.

“Uh. Look, we both know I heard that comment about my ass, and I’m flattered but you’re practically a _baby_ and…”

“DEREK! I MEANT DEREK, oh my God!”

Chris was howling by now, almost rolling on the floor laughing. Peter, on the other hand, frowned.

“Wait. You’re that guy. Derek’s sex slave-wannabe.”

Stiles blanched. “Oh, God, he told you. I am so sorry. My filter almost never works, especially around hot guys…”

“So I see”, Peter purred, making more chuckles escape Chris’ tightly closed lips.

Stiles’ hand covered his red face and he groaned.

“I shouldn’t have said that to him. Especially considering…”

And just like that the light mood was broken. The laugher died and Chris’ throat felt dry. Peter’s face hardened. The whole room had gone colder in a matter of seconds.

“Considering what?”, Peter hissed. “Does the whole town know about how Kate Argent statutory raped Derek Hale in order to completely destroy him and his whole family?”

“I’m… that’s not what I…my father is the Sheriff and…”, Stiles sputtered. Making it worse.

Chris hurried to explain.

“That doesn’t mean Noah showed him the files. Stiles just happens to be a great researcher…. and insufferably nosey.”

Peter shot Stiles a murderous glare and Chris felt he had to hastily add,

“He’s a good kid, Peter. No one else knows. He told no one and I don’t exactly advertise my family’s insanity and crimes either.”

Peter’s eyes turned from murderous to guarded. He nodded slowly, his cold eyes measuring first Chris and then Stiles before he turned to leave.

“I’ll let Derek know that you’re seriously interested”, he waved over his shoulder.

Stiles let out a pitiful sound, suspiciously close to a whine. Chris sighed and rubbed his aching temples.

* * *

Derek stepped into the loft tired and fed up with everything: the contractors and their endless demands in spite of their late deliveries; piles and piles of paperwork that Peter only occasionally took care of; the crowds and the noise and flashing lights and…

And the club was very obviously not Derek’s idea. He’d never been a party animal, even in his teenage days. But Peter wanted it, it was his element and Derek went with it. It wasn’t like he had any other ideas and that way at least his family, or what was left of it, was happy.

He dragged his feet towards the kitchen and spotted Malia on the sofa in the living area.

“Hey”, he greeted.

“Hey”, she answered simply.

“Where’s Peter?”

She shrugged. “Out.”

Very helpful. Derek supposed he could sniff him out or depend on the pack bond to lead the way. Or just Alpha call his uncle if it came to that. But it wasn’t necessary, Peter had probably just gone for a run, or to the store…

“He was carrying a sledgehammer”, Malia suddenly said.

Derek paused in front of the open fridge and closed his eyes.

Well. It was about time, he supposed.

He closed the fridge and went to change into something more comfortable.

“Have you eaten? I’ll probably pick up Chinese for me and Peter”, he called as he was retying his shoes.

“I’m good, thanks”, Malia called back.

He stood up and reached for his keys. There was a thermos with coffee right beside them and Derek smiled at it before he looked back at the couch. Malia didn’t look as if she had moved at all but that thermos had definitely not been there when Derek had last checked.

“Thanks”, he said quietly, grabbing the hot beverage and going to find his uncle.

* * *

He found Peter just where he knew he would: at the old Hale house, sweaty and panting in the middle of the debris, two of the few remaining walls already down. They shared a look.

“Are you mad?”, Peter rasped out.

Derek shook his head, leaving the bag of Chinese on a nearby stump.

“No. It’s what we should have done from the start. That’s the first real healing we’ve done since coming back.”

“I was thinking about a memorial monument. Of sorts. I don’t think I can live here again”, Peter clarified.

Derek nodded again. “Okay. Give me the hammer and come eat something. We’ll take turns.”

It was Peter’s turn to nod tiredly and hand over the sledge. He collapsed on the ground heavily and ripped open the closest box of Chinese. As he stuffed his mouth with pork choy he realized that he, Derek and Malia really were related after all.

And then he realized something else. He waited for Derek to take a swing with the hammer and spoke up.

“I met your slave-wannabe today.”

Derek dropped the sledge and cursed loudly around a growl when it fell on his foot. Peter chuckled and took another bite as his nephew bent down to take the tool back.

“Like I said, it was just a misfortunate choice of words. He’s serious about you, Derek. He knows the whole story – don’t ask me how – and he still wants a chance.” He chewed, took another bite, chewed some more and then added carefully, “I like him. He seems like a good kid.”

“Don’t push it”, Derek growled. “You did that on purpose and I still have to hold myself back from throwing that hammer at your head!”

Peter lifted his hands up innocently. But his eyes told another story.

Derek sighed, rolled his eyes and took another swing.


	9. My way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas all! :)  
> My way is a song by Limp Bizkit. Not my most favorite but the title fit best :)

Derek took a deep breath and gathered his courage. He once knew how to flirt. Right? It had been so long ago. He wasn’t sure if he still knew what to do.

Well. One way to find out. He braced himself and stepped out of the car and into the service shop.

His attention was immediately drawn to a pair of long legs sticking out from under an old Jeep. And while that couldn’t tell him enough about the person, Stiles’ voice and the colorful curse he hissed could. Derek smirked and tapped his knuckles onto the Jeep’s hood.

“I’ll be right there!”, Stiles called. “Just… a second…”, he hissed, voice strained, as he struggled with something.

“Or I could just pull out the creeper”, Derek said.

There was a loud bang and low whine, along with another, quieter curse. Derek winced and bent down to actually do just that, rolling Stiles out from under the car. They stared at each other, both silently apologizing: Derek for making Stiles hit his head in his surprise and Stiles for his earlier choice of words.

“I didn’t meant to scare you”, Derek said quietly.

Stiles snorted. “Forget that. I just hope that by ‘creeper’ you meant the crawler and not me.”

It was Derek’s turn to chuckle and shake his head. Stiles opened his mouth.

“Listen, I wanted to apol-…”, he started but Derek quickly put a finger over his mouth.

“Let’s just start all over, yeah?”, he reached out a hand. “I’m Derek.”

A slow, careful smile crawled on the boy’s handsome face as he took the offered hand in a surprisingly strong grip and nodded.

“Stiles.”

Derek couldn’t help it.

“Really?”, he asked with a wince and a quiet disbelief.

Stiles just burst out laughing.

* * *

“I was thinking about something simple. But more like a statue rather than a tombstone”, Peter said, cleaning the last of the debris.

The place where the old house had once stood looked more like a peaceful meadow instead of the haunted ruins of a mansion. Peter was surprised to find out that manual labor actually helped him feel lighter; free. He didn’t mind getting his hands dirty if that’s what it took to lift the weight from his shoulders.

Derek grunted, moving away a heavy looking piece of concrete.

“Sure. We can check online for some ideas later.”

Peter fake gasped.

“You use internet, nephew?! Don’t tell me you have Pinterest now!”

Derek looked up at the sky for strength. Or help.

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Because killing me didn’t work”, Peter winked. “And I’d like to think that you’ve come to like me somewhat since then.”

Another grunt.

Peter liked to imagine it sounded affirmative.

* * *

The door swung open before Stiles could even knock, making him flinch back with surprise. Especially since the one standing at the entrance wasn’t Derek but Peter. There was a disturbing smile on his face and a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Stiles”, he drawled.

“Mr. Hale”, Stiles nodded.

Peter waved a hand dismissively. “Please. Let’s drop the honorifics and stick to first names.”

“Sur-…”

“Since you’re hoping to bang my nephew and all.”

Stiles sputtered indignantly just as a loud crash sounded from within the flat and Derek’s slightly hysterical voice called out a horrified “PETER!”

Peter grinned widely, basking in the awkwardness and tension.

“Now, before Derek tries to kill me again…”, the smile slid from his face eerily fast, like a candle blown by the wind. “What are you?”

Stiles frowned and took another step back just as Derek stopped to a halt right next to his uncle, frowning as well. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Come now, Derek, you’d be a really shitty Alpha if you haven’t smelled it.”

Derek’s eyes suddenly went wide with realization. “The ozone smell. It was… you.”

Stiles cleared his throat. He hesitated for a moment then decided… fuck it. He dug into his pocket and pulled out what looked like dust. Derek and Peter immediately stepped back and their noses twitched. Stiles tried to ignore that and focus as best as he could. The mountain ash in his hand rose and formed a new shape. A pentagram.

He finally looked up and smiled sheepishly.

“So, uh. I’m magic”, he flicked his hand and the ash crawled up his sleeve and presumably back into his pocket. His other hand rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Surprise?”

The wolves blinked. Peter’ hand knocked Derek’s chest.

“Don’t miss this one, nephew”, he said before pushing Derek out the door and closing it firmly behind him.

They exchanged a look. Stiles snorted.

“Well, I guess that was a blessing.”

* * *

Malia sat curled on the bench on the loft’s balcony, a steaming cup clutched in her small trembling hands. It was obvious that she was hiding, in a way. As if the balcony would hide her from Peter’s knowing eyes. Her tearstained face and the phone left on the table next to her told him everything he needed to know. He sighed and carefully made his way to his distressed cub.

She looked up when she heard him, her lips trembling and tears still running down her face. Hugs weren’t really their thing so he sat there next to her and gave them both another moment to collect themselves before he spoke.

“It’s Corrine, isn’t it?”, he asked gravely. _Again_ , he thought angrily.

Malia nodded.

Peter sighed again. “Have you transferred all your important information from your phone to a cloud or something?”

Malia frowned, obviously caught off guard. She nodded slowly. He reached out and made an impatient gesture. Even more confused, Malia handed over her phone. There was a sickening crunch accompanied by her surprised gasp as the pieces of the device fell to the floor. Peter shook his hand to get rid of the last bits. He didn’t meet her wide, shocked eyes, choosing instead to look straight ahead as he said, deceptively calmly,

“I’ll buy you a new one of course.”

“But… wouldn’t she… can’t she sue you for cutting off all ties with me?”, Malia choked out.

“No, she can’t. That’s what full custody means. That’s what I fought so hard to achieve.”

“How did you even?”, she frowned again. “I’ve always wondered. Not that I’m complaining!”

He knew what she meant. At the time she came into his life he was unemployed, barely out of coma and fighting with depression. No sane judge would give him full custody. He knew – he had tried getting what he wanted, the honest way. It took years and it didn’t work. It took just a second when he finally decided to do things _his way_.

He smirked. “I have a few cards up my sleeve.”

She lifted an eyebrow, looking so much like him at that moment that his heart skipped a beat.

“So money or threats?”, she asked bluntly.

He chuckled a little but then became serious as he turned to face her.

“Whatever it takes.”

It was all there in his eyes. _I don’t have much family left. I’ll do anything for them. Anything._

“We came here to heal. All of us”, he added.

Malia left her mug on the table and crawled into his arms, snuggling. Again, he hesitated for a second before his arms tightened around her. He knew she could hear his heart racing but tried to cover it with his usual snark.

“You’re getting all soft and cuddly, daughter mine”, he snorted.

“Shut up, it’s a coyote thing”, she sniffed.

He smiled, hugging her closer.

* * *

It was turning into a thing. And he was turning into a creeper.

Chris watched as the two cars stopped in front of a lesser visited wing of the hospital. It was so secluded that it even had its own entrance and Chris had no idea what he was doing there, sitting in his car. But there he was and he couldn’t look away from the two men who stepped out of their own two black cars, one of them slower and more hesitant.

Derek waited patiently until Peter stepped out of the Panamera. His uncle looked pensive and kind of lost as he looked at the grey building in front of them. The Alpha patted his shoulder in silent comfort and ran a hand up the side of his neck, scent marking and further comforting him. Peter nodded slightly and they made their way to the trunks of the cars. Small as they were considering both vehicles were of the sports kind, it became obvious why they had taken both cars. Both of them took out heavy looking boxes and made their way over to the Beacon Hills Long Term Care Hospital Wing.

Was it equipment that they were donating? Or just tidbits to make the patients’ stay more bearable? Chris had no doubt that there was going to be a money donation too. Was it all part of healing for them? Or was it out of the goodness of their hearts? Both maybe…

The light tap on his window startled him enough to both pull him out of his reverie and trigger some old hunter instincts to reach out for a weapon (which he did, in fact, have – stashed under his seat, so the person surprising him was really lucky to not have been faced with it, yet). He focused. On the face of his own psychiatrist. Dr. Bloom smiled kindly.

“Ready for our meeting, Chris?”, he asked patiently.

He forced on a smile, carefully disengaging his Desert Eagle’s hammer and slowly letting go of the gun.

Just another day in Beacon Hills.


	10. Bring me to life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring me to life is Evanescence's most popular song.  
> Thanks again for the sweet comments! ^^

A trip to the pharmacy in the middle of the night was never fun. But neither was being wide awake, third night in a row. Chris had eventually accepted that he would have to surrender to sleeping pills from time to time if he wanted to be able to function normally through his days.

Driving to the pharmacy after midnight wasn’t fun. But neither was having a fucking car fall down on you because you’ve failed to notice it wasn’t properly secured.

He was still cursing at himself for never buying the damn pills on time, _day time_ , when he saw him.

Peter looked completely lost here. And what was he even doing here? Needed some coughing syrup? Ha!

“So a werewolf walks into a pharmacy…”, Chris drawled, smirking a bit when Peter flinched. But when the wolf actually turned to face him Chris’ smile slipped from his face. “Peter?”

He did look lost. Lost for words, for what to do. It was so uncharacteristic for the arrogant Peter Hale that Chris had to hold himself back from just going there and shaking him.

“It’s Malia”, Peter finally spoke, quiet and hollow.

“What is it?”, Chris asked.

“I don’t know. She has a fever and she’s been vomiting since after dinner. We ate the same thing. I don’t… I don’t know what to do. Deaton’s gone and… I don’t know what’s happening with her.”

Chris shook his head. “Whatever it is, nothing here could help you. Come, I’ll take you to Stiles.”

Peter frowned. “Stiles?”

A faint smile returned to Chris’ face. “You don’t really think that Deaton only taught him the mountain ash trick, right?”

* * *

Stiles frowned, his hand steady on Malia’s sweaty forehead. The vomiting had stopped but only because the fever had gotten worse and she was currently unconscious. His lips thinned.

“Does she have a full shift?”, he asked.

Peter’s own frown deepened. “Yes. What does…?”, he started but Stiles interrupted him.

“You’re not gonna like that. And I guess you still don’t know me to trust me but trust this – I’m literally her only chance, so hold yourself back from attacking-…”

“Stiles!”, Chris called, successfully stopping his ramble.

Stiles sighed. “She needs wolfsbane.”

Peter growled, tensing and ready to pounce. Just like Stiles had predicted.

“Listen to me! There’s no time for that!”, the boy’s huge eyes stared imploringly at him. “She’s poisoned. Few things can poison a were but that means whatever it is hit her hard. My guess is that she ate a poisoned animal in her full shift. Well, no, not poisoned. Wolfsbane isn’t poisonous for rabbits and the like. But it is to her and if she ate Bugs Bunny right before dinner…”, Stiles trailed.

That finally reached Peter and made him pause.

So she _had been_ frolicking around in the woods.

“Do you know where?”, Stiles asked urgently.

“No. But I can find out”, Peter said, his eyes going electric blue.

The boy nodded. “Do. I need to know exactly what kind of wolfsbane she consumed.”

“Yes but how?”, Chris spoke up. “That rabbit could have eaten the wolfsbane anywhere in the woods before Malia found it.”

Stiles shook his head with a small all-knowing smile. “Rabbits have a great metabolism. If the wolfsbane was still that potent to poison her that means it was still not processed which means the rabbit ate it recently, which means closer to the place where she ate the rabbit.”

“You _assume_ it’s a rabbit. Your whole theory is based on that”, Chris pointed.

It was Peter’s turn to speak up. “She’s a coyote. Any other prey in these woods is too big for her. Must have been a rabbit.”

Stiles slapped his hands. “Chop-chop, guys!”

Right. They had a dead rabbit to hunt.

* * *

Sniffing out Malia’s trail wasn’t hard for someone like Peter. Nor was finding the bloody remnants of the rabbit. Or the patch of small purple flowers nearby.

Touching them however… was.

“Let me”, Chris grunted. Peter growled, too angry in his helplessness, too scared and emotionally wrung out to comprehend,

“Why?”

“Because you can’t touch them…”, Chris trailed, as Peter slammed him into a tree.

“What do you fucking care at all?!”, he roared.

Chris blinked calmly, patiently. “Really? We’re having that talk right now?” 

Peter took in a gasping breath and stepped back. Without another word Chris bent down to retrieve some of the flowers, along with their roots – he had no idea what Stiles needed – before he stood up and ran back to the loft.

* * *

The pale morning light permeated the room sneakily, creeping into the quiet loft. Malia’s bedroom was upstairs like all of the rest, a part of a once big open space now separated in three parts to create the notion of privacy. It was small and cozy but definitely not meant for a gathering of sorts. Like the four people currently sleeping there.

Stiles was sprawled on the chair next to Malia’s bed, his body twisted in an unspeakable form where he had passed out. Derek was sitting on the floor next to the chair, head resting on Stiles’ thigh, eyes closed.

Malia was still sickly pale but her breathing was easier. She was curled into a ball and into a few blankets. Peter was right there next to her on the bed, arm thrown protectively around her as she snuggled closer to him in her sleep. His eyes were closed too but Chris doubted he was really sleeping.

He was proven right when those deep blue eyes snapped open and looked right into his own paler blue orbs. They stared at each other for a long time, quiet and humbled after their weird, nightmarish, _shared_ night. There were no questions, no words. Just silence and the pale morning light. Chris nodded and turned around to leave.

Maybe it was wishful thinking and maybe he imagined it but Chris thought there was something more than just wariness in Peter’s eyes as he watched him go.

* * *

Stiles stirred awake uncharacteristically slowly. Something that turned into frantic movements as soon as his eyes focused and he took in the soft sheets and the comfortable bed. Which wasn’t his bed. Where the fuck was he?!

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re safe.”

Derek.

Stiles blinked again, trying to get rid of the last remnants of sleep.

“This is not where I fell asleep”, he noted.

“No”, Derek agreed. “And before you worry, nothing funny happened…”

Stiles snorted. “Have you met you? I’d love it for something _funny_ to have happened”, he said, making Derek blush. “Then again, I’d love to remember it so… good thing it didn’t, I guess.”

“You fell asleep in that chair. I moved you here to be more comfortable”, Derek clarified.

“Thank you”, Stiles smiled.

Derek shook his head. “Thank _you_. You saved my cousin.”

Stiles shrugged modestly. Then he reached out a hand.

“Come on, Serious Wolf. We don’t have to get up yet.”

And when Derek hesitated the younger man rolled his eyes with a small smile and added,

“And we don’t have to lose our clothes. I’m not that kind of girl, come on!”

Derek huffed, shaking his head a bit.

But he did join Stiles in bed, snuggling for a few more hours of sleep.

* * *

Chris was contemplating the menu, trying to decide between the pork ribs and the Black Angus burger. He was lost in thought but not as much as to not feel when someone sat in the booth in front of him. He lowered the menu and his brows lifted in surprise. They stared at each other. _Again_.

“Uh, hello?”, Chris tried awkwardly.

“Mmh”, Peter hummed nonchalantly.

“What’s happening here?”, Chris asked warily.

“I’m buying you lunch, Argent, do try to keep up”, Peter answered haughtily as he examined the menu as well.

“… Why?”, Chris frowned.

“You saved my child. Twice. It’s the common thing to do as a thanks.”

“I d-…”

“Just fucking accept it”, Peter growled. Then he nodded to himself and closed the menu. “I think I’ll have the Black Angus.”

Chris tried to bite back his smile.

* * *

And then here they were. At the store. Shopping. Together. Well, Chris was shopping and Peter… Peter had just trailed after him.

“Do you mind if I ask…”, Chris started.

“Probably”, Peter snarked. “But you’d do so anyway.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “You looked so freaked out last night. And before you say anything”, he raised his voice when Peter opened his mouth, “yes, I know that’s how a parent looks when there’s something wrong with their kid; I _have_ a kid, so I know. You just looked like it was the first time to happen to you.”

“It was”, Peter said quietly.

“Huh. Must be nice to have a were child who hardly ever…”

“I haven’t always had her”, Peter interrupted him. He avoided his eyes when he clarified further, “Her mother wasn’t kind enough to let me know I’d become a father.”

“Oh…”, Chris gulped dryly, lost for words.

“Hm, yes. But, you know what they say. Blood is thicker than water.”

“So you found out…”, Chris guessed.

Peter shook his head with a small, real smile.

“ _She_ found me. Just when I needed her the most. A reason to bring me back to life.”

They were quiet for the rest of their shopping trip.

* * *

“You never answered my question”, Peter pushed as Chris was unloading his groceries from the cart to his car.

“Hmm?”, he asked distractedly. “What question?”

“What do you care? Why did you save Malia?”

Chris paused for a second but didn’t turn back. He went back to arranging his bags.

“Because in spite of my last name I’m actually a decent human being?”, he tried. It sounded a lot like a question.

“Could be”, Peter allowed, nodding along. “But really; why?”

Chris finally closed the trunk and turned back to face him. His expression held many emotions, too many for Peter to try, to _want_ to decipher. Chris saw that and heaved a resigned sigh.

“I’m sentimental”, he muttered stepping into the car and driving off, leaving a troubled Peter behind.


	11. Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a 30 seconds to Mars’ song. Also, an allusion to the calm before the storm ;) 

_“I’m sentimental.”_ What was that even supposed to mean?!

Peter grumbled to himself as he dragged his feet towards the club. He would grab some paperwork to take home and, most importantly – grab a ride since his bike was there as he could use it to go back to the loft.

It was early and the staff was just starting to gather and prepare for the evening: the bartenders restocked the many different bottles of alcohol, the waiters cleaned the booths and stools, a delivery guy argued about another late shipment with one of the barkeeps, Isaac. Peter sighed, ready to intervene when Boyd stepped up, arms crossed above his chest, muscles bulging under his white tee. He said absolutely nothing. He didn’t even glare. The delivery guy choked out something and backed away. Peter smirked, right as Erica started gushing and cooing at her boyfriend.

He liked those brats. Isaac was cute and charming with his blonde curls and shy smiles but he could also be bitingly witty and sarcastic. While he was tall and lean Boyd was all muscles. He _inspired_ respect without ever even raising his voice. Perfect for a bouncer, really. The other barkeep, Erica, was a perfect match for him. She was bright, loud and bold where Boyd was stoic and quiet.

They were all werewolves.

Peter had been surprised, actually, when they all showed up for the interviews, together. They weren’t a pack - they had no Alpha, bitten and left behind by the same scumbag they had obviously later dealt with. With Stiles’ help. _That_ shouldn’t really surprise Peter, considering he _knew_ what the boy was capable of by now. But he hadn’t, back then, when three young weres showed up on his doorstep, packless but proud, sticking together as the only real family they had. As time passed Peter had learned their stories, bits and pieces told here and there between shifts. And as time went by they gradually stopped being staff and became… something else. Peter didn’t want to admit it or even name it. He hadn’t come back in this town looking to extend his already strange little pack. He didn’t look for any other pack bonds.

But it was hard to remain indifferent to those three. They had that… way, to crawl under your skin. He knew he wasn’t the only one. And if he knew Derek at all, it was only a matter of time before he offered to officially become their Alpha.

“You’re here early, boss”, Erica noted.

“Just passing though”, he called back. “Getting some homework. You’re on your own tonight.”

He only trusted them with that. There was another shift and they were cool enough for Peter to let them work for him but he only let Isaac, Boyd and Erica manage a night unsupervised by either him or Derek.

He made his way to his office, sorted his paperwork and took what he needed, stuffing it into a backpack – he needed both hands for his bike and there was no extra seat to dump those folders on. It wasn’t ideal but he loved his Kawasaki too much to mind some small inconveniences.

“Call if you need anything”, he called as he made his way to the exit.

“Got it, boss!”, Erica answered, saluting him with a wink.

He shook his head and hopped on his bike.

* * *

The first thing that greeted him when he got home was a dirty and drawn-out moan: Stiles’. Then a growl: Derek’s. Then the _smell_.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”, he yelled, turning back on a heel and all but running out.

Thank God he was with the bike! He needed to get as far away as possible and wipe that smell from his poor, sensitive nose.

* * *

He swung back by the club, ignoring the surprised looks (Boyd) and nosy inquiries (Erica) and grabbed a bottle of his finest whiskey from his personal stash. It wasn’t offered at the club: it was bought for taste’s purposes only and for special occasions.

Like wiping away the scent and memory of your nephew having sex at your ( **shared** , _why, why?!_ ) home.

And there he was: staring at the city below and sipping directly from the bottle.

Someone sat heavily next to him and he didn’t even have to look to know who it was. There were very few people who could sneak up as quietly and undetected. That, and her scent was far, far more welcome than anything other at the moment.

“You too?”, he just asked.

“Unfortunately”, she grumbled.

“Saw, heard or smelled?”, he smirked.

“Fucking all of it! Ugh! Scarred for life, I swear!”, she declared dramatically.

He chuckled, pulling out a non-alcoholic beer he had picked on a whim (and maybe a hunch) and handed it over without a word. Malia accepted it gratefully and they clunked the bottles, sipping in a comfortable silence.

A thought occurred to him and he suddenly burst laughing making her look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s kind of ironic actually. This place here?”, he motioned the cliff they were sitting on overlooking the city and providing a magnificent view. “It’s called Make Out Point. We’re sexhiled at Make Out Point.”

They both burst laughing at the thought and it took them some time to calm down. Malia was still smiling wide as she shook her head and wondered,

“Whose idea was it, to live together?”

“It’s a Pack thing”, Peter shrugged. “Have to stay together. It’s stronger than us.”

“Yes but… that”, she made a face. Peter chuckled, nodding.

“Believe me, I know what you mean.”

“We have to do something though. I don’t intend to remain celibate my whole life”, she said.

“Can’t you?”, he asked hopefully.

“No. As a matter of fact, I intend to soon take care of certain things…”

“Ugh, no, nope, not talking and not thinking of that!”

“Peter, I’m almost 17.”

“We don’t have to talk about birds and bees, right?”, he cringed. “Please tell me we don’t!”

She laughed. “Nope. We’re cool.”

“Thank God! I swear, one shock is enough for…”

“With _both_ birds _and_ bees”, she added meaningfully.

He looked at her. “Oh”, he just said.

She bit her lip, looking small and unsure and he couldn’t have that. He smiled through his surprise and swung an arm around her shoulder, gathering her close.

“We’re cool”, he repeated her own words, waiting for it to sink in and for her to relax somewhat before he added, “Your father’s child” and they both burst laughing again.

* * *

Peter stood waiting in a fucking line up. For coffee. This fucking hole-in-the-wall’s coffee wasn’t even good. Fuck, it was substandard!

But.

Christopher Argent sat in front of Peter’s favorite café dressed in a casual white button-up and jeans. He looked somewhat unsettled and he kept checking a surprisingly stylish watch. Then his arms would cross over his chest again, crisp white pulling over toned biceps that _did things_ for Peter that he didn’t want to admit about.

Peter narrowed his eyes, lying in wait.

A black sedan came to a stop next to the café and a young woman flew out of the passenger seat, looking overly eager and excited. A young man followed her from the driver’s side at a more sedate pace, a few steps behind her.

Argent stood up right as the woman flung herself onto him, easily catching her with a wide smile on his face. He kissed the top of her head tenderly and when she pulled back somewhat to look up at him there was so much love in his eyes that it was almost blinding.

And then, as if he had finally felt Peter watching them, he looked up, eyes catching Peter’s. The woman turned around too.

She was beautiful, Peter supposed. Her dark wavy hair framed a heart-shaped face with porcelain skin. She was shorter than him but had that presence that hinted about much more strength than her delicate bone structure suggested. She was too young for a love interest and the way Argent carried himself around her was entirely protective. 

Ah. The daughter then.

Her big dark eyes were boring into Peter at the moment, evaluating him. She lifted an eyebrow.

There was a low growl and Peter blinked, looking down.

Malia stood right in front of him, having stepped in casually but her growl stating a clear warning. The two girls exchanged a long look. The other woman’s lips curled in a small smirk. Malia smiled back, with just a hint of danger but also blatant interest.

Argent cleared his throat, pointedly shaking the young man’s hand and breaking the tense moment as his daughter turned back to her boyfriend, who was obviously…

“Scott?! Oh my God, Scott! Allison!”

Peter flinched at Stiles’ screech, a voice he could sadly no longer mistake in any octave, right as the brat ran across the street and drew the couple in a bear hug.

Well. Fucking hell.

* * *

It was a tense morning in the Hale household. Peter sipped his coffee, his hand gripping the mug just a tad too tightly as he tried to ignore how hard Derek stabbed into his scrambled eggs.

“Something bothering you, nephew?”, he hissed through clenched teeth.

Derek huffed, still playing with his food rather than eating it.

A week had passed since another Argent had arrived in town along with her boyfriend a.k.a Stiles’ best friend. Hence Stiles’ absence lately.

Derek was becoming insufferable.

Malia, the only one in a good mood this morning, frowned at her crossword puzzle.

“Another word for obscene”, she demanded.

“Peter’s v-necks”, Derek muttered, earning a laugh from Peter’s traitor of a daughter.

“Don’t take your sexual frustration out on unsuspecting family, Derek”, Peter bit back. “Just because Stiles has gone to play with Puppy Eyes…”

“Scott.”

“Huh?”, Peter frowned.

“Stiles’ friend with the puppy eyes. His name is Scott”, Malia explained as if it was obvious.

She finally looked up when the silence stretched to an awkward level. Peter and Derek were both staring at her as if she had gone mad.

“What? Stiles introduced me”, she shrugged.

“What, you’re friends now?!”, Peter exploded.

“Who, Stiles and me?”

“No, Madonna and you! Of course Stiles and you!”

“Well, since he screws my cousin I take it he’s pack now?”

Derek choked on his own spit. Peter would find it hilarious if he wasn’t too busy with something else.

“Look, whatever Stiles tells you, I’m not comfortable with you getting all friendly with Argent’s girl. I know he saved your life and he seems like a decent guy and all that but I don’t really know _her_ and she _does_ come from a hunter family…”

“Oh, Allison’s not like that”, Malia cut him off. “She actually hates that part of her family’s history. She’s cool. And funny…”

“And taken!”, Peter pointed out, desperate for anything to keep Malia away from an unknown Argent. Christopher may have given up hunting when she had been born, but Peter was sure that Allison’s mother had been a hunter too; and she _hadn’t_ given that up. One didn’t know which side the girl actually leaned on. “Boyfriend, remember?”, he added smugly as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Mmm, and a hot one at that. I’ve been begging them for a threesome but so far, no success.”

Peter choked on his coffee, badly. There he was, gasping and nearly dying and Derek just grinned darkly.

“Her father’s child, hm?”, he tapped the crossword, addressing his cousin. “Try _Malia_ for a synonym of obscene.”

Malia scoffed as she patted Peter on the back.

It didn’t help at all.


	12. Still loving you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still loving you is a song by Scorpions.

His life was a mess.

He was 33 and a single father to a daughter he had just recently _fucking met_. He had come back to his home town in the hopes of healing and rebuilding and let’s see how that had turned out: his daughter and nephew both fall for the same guy, Derek winning said guy and screwing him senseless in the loft _they_ _all lived in_ ; his daughter telling him she’s actually bi and declaring she would very much like to have a threesome with a complete stranger and an Argent! And not just any Argent but the son-of-a-bitch-Peter-had-never-really-fucking-forgotten’s daughter! For fuck’s sake, he just wanted some peace! Anyhow!

And there he was. Digging up flowerbeds at the cleaned out site of his old childhood home. He had no idea about gardening. And that surely wasn’t how he had pictured his life when he had been 24, recently graduated and ready to build up his future… right before everything had been taken away from him.

“I was mostly messing with you. I took that too far. I’m sorry.”

He huffed, taking a moment before he turned around to face her. Malia looked small and vulnerable in her too big jacket (was it Derek’s?), scuffing her shoe on the ground. Her eyes flicked to meet his then looked away.

“I’d lie if I say I’m not glad to hear that.”

“Peter, I’m not about to go sleeping around…”

“Good. Cuz that’s what I did. And I can promise you it didn’t help.”

Their eyes met again. And lingered. Peter sighed.

“I had a tough time accepting that you are even old enough to do it. We just met, I keep expecting a child and keep forgetting that you’re a young adult… ready to live her life and make her own mistakes. Forgive me if I want to spare you some pain because I’ve walked this path and I know how much some of these mistakes can hurt.”

She shuffled closer, her eyes suspiciously shiny when she asked,

“Do they still hurt?”

He frowned, looking away.

“Sometimes. Yes.”

“Dad?”

It made his head snap back to look at her, eyes wide and full of disbelief. She took the last few steps separating them and hugged him tight.

“Then maybe it wasn’t a mistake.”

He huffed, chocking on a laugh as his arms lifted to return the hug, lips gently kissing the top of her head as he whispered shakily,

“You certainly wasn’t, kid.”

* * *

He buried himself in his work, determined to get over his… mood. There was always some paperwork to be done at the club, always the idea of renovations, maybe inviting a new DJ, new menu – although how much more alcohol was there at all?! Still, he had to do something, had to stay occupied. Otherwise he feared he might slip. Back into that darker, colder place he had barely crawled out of last time.

It didn’t go unnoticed by the younger wolves and he caught them throwing him worried looks when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. Isaac kept bringing lattes and other fancy coffee drinks to his office before his shift even officially started. He apparently prepared them himself and Peter was surprised to find out they even offered coffee beverages. He made a point to ask Derek.

Erica kept opening her mouth as if ready to inquire or declare something. Peter never found out because Boyd always stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and no words at all.

Whenever he walked out of the club the sign of the service shop across the street mocked him with its simple bold letters. Sometimes he’d catch Argent looking up, right into his eyes before they would quickly look away from each other as if it hadn’t happened at all. That and their few stolen moments of intimacy, a whole lifetime ago.

And wasn’t that the whole problem?! It was Peter who had told himself it had meant nothing, who had fucked half the town to erase the idea of a possible _something_ between himself and Argent. It was him, who had tried to convince himself _nothing had happened_. Nothing at all.

So why did it hurt so fucking much when Argent pretended so too?

 _Maybe it wasn’t a mistake_. Malia’s words rang in his head, making his gut twist and his chest feel too tight and his vision go a bit gray.

No, he wouldn’t acknowledge it. It was better this way. This… mask of indifference they had both adopted. Better than taunting each other or preying on each other or…

Whatever else.

Peter felt restless and itchy all over. The club wasn’t enough. He needed more of a distraction.

* * *

Something landed on the table with a dull thud. Derek lowered his book and arched an eyebrow over the rim of his mug.

Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t back off. He rolled out a map and circled two areas in the Preserve. Derek immediately recognized the first – it was the old Hale house. The other place was on the other side of the park. He looked up at his uncle with a silent question.

Peter huffed impatiently. “You said it yourself. We own the land. We need a better connection with it, need to be closer to the woods, free to…”

“Peter.”

He flinched. Fucking Alpha voice. Fucking unquestionable authority.

“Yes”, he hissed, aware that he couldn’t fight that pull to answer, to submit.

“Look at me.”

The command was there but now without the Alpha note. Peter complied, still grateful for the option not to. Derek’s eyes bored into his own, searching.

“Are you sure? Are you o-…”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m okay, just… let’s do this. It’s what we came here for, isn’t it?”

Derek’s careful look said it all _: no, it wasn’t. No, I don’t think you’re okay._

_No, I will not push you._

“Okay”, Derek nodded slowly.

Peter nodded back, curtly, and folded the map. “I’ll have an architect pull up a plan and we can start working on the new house as soon as we agree on it.”

He was about to leave the kitchen and this fucking conversation when it occurred to him,

“Hey, Derek?”

“Mm?”

“Do we offer any coffee drinks at the club?”

Derek frowned. “No.”

Peter smirked. His eyes stung and he wanted to curse and laugh. Fucking Isaac. Fucking people who got under your skin and _stayed_ there.

It was too much.

He ran.

* * *

In retrospect he should have seen in coming. The Argent girl had stayed in town for a while and when their paths crossed (was it his paranoia or did they really cross a bit too often?!) she kept throwing him long, calculating looks. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all.

And Malia had that distinct look on her face like she was about to do something stupid.

* * *

It all came to an end one night when the club was packed and Isaac and Erica barely kept up with the orders and the music was pulsing along with that unnamed thrum in Peter’s blood and people were dancing with abandon and then there was,

“Malia?! Just what is your _underage_ ass even doing…”

“Just hear me out…”, she tried.

“…in a place that positively sells alcohol…”

“Dad!”

A low blow but by now she knew it would always work. Her hands gripped his biceps tightly and she stared at him imploringly as if she were _willing_ him to see her point, which was… what exactly?

“Just give up on the past! Give _in_! And give _this_ a chance”, her big brown eyes pled with him.

Right before she turned him around and gave him a surprisingly strong push…

…right into a pair of strong arms.

Argent looked a bit dizzy and like he had also kind of stumbled there. His daughter’s nervous face behind him told Peter that had been exactly what had happened. He huffed and pulled back but right then the music changed.

_“Shame, such a shame,_

_I think I kinda lost myself again…”_

His eyes widened for a second, before they narrowed as he looked at the other man.

“You planned this”, he accused, trying to fight down a smile.

“They did actually”, Argent nodded at their daughters, shuffling awkwardly. “I have no idea who told them about our song.”

“Oh? We have a song?”, Peter smirked.

Argent gave him a _look_. Peter arched a brow.

“Well? Wanna give them a show?”, he dared.

Argent took the bait and Peter smirked again: he always did. Those strong arms sneaked around Peter, hips moving surprisingly sensually. Huh. Hunter boy still got it, it seemed. Peter’s own hands mapped out the ridges and planes of that well-toned chest and his smirk widened.

“Reminds me of the last time we danced to that song”, he purred.

Argent gulped dryly, eyes stopping on Peter’s lips and the wolf knew what the man was remembering: them, young, stupid and free, grinding against each other on the dancefloor… a vertical representation of horizontal needs… skin, sweaty and writhing on rumpled sheets…

“So did you change your mind?”, Peter huffed.

“Mm?”, Argent half moaned.

“About my offer?”

He felt it immediately. The mood, the moment broke. The shift in the air was the shift of Argent’s body, the freeze and pull, the step back. The pained frown on his face when he whispered brokenly,

“Don’t you get it, idiot? The reason I denied when you offered a quickie of hate sex? You fucking moron, I still love you!”

He felt that like a slap across the face. Like a punch in his chest, like a wolfsbane bullet to his heart. He staggered, tripping as he stepped back. His vision swayed.

“Peter…”, Argent reached out.

“No…”, he choked out.

_“You thought wrong_ _…_ _”_

_It didn’t mean anything. It never happened._

_“I still love you!”_

“Fuck you”, he spat out. “Still loving me? You never did!”

His heart was racing. His skin was too tight, his body too small. He couldn’t breathe.

“Dad!”

Somewhere in the back of his head he registered Malia’s panicked voice, the way she reached out for him. He wanted to calm his cub but he _needed_ to run.

“Dad!!”

Isaac’s hands grabbed her and restrained her in a strong grip that his skinny frame didn’t suggest. Their eyes met for a second. Peter didn’t know words, didn’t know where his voice was, he needed to get away from here, so badly…

It all became a blur around him. First it was a faceless crowd, then a dark forest, then a rundown room. He broke down and fell apart.

* * *

It was his night off. Peter was at the club and besides, it was the Wolf Shift’s turn. Everything was going to be alright and taken care of. He could cocoon into his bed and bury his face in Stiles’ chest…

Until his phone rang.

“mmmh”, Stiles stirred, trying to throw a pillow over his head and instead slapping Derek with it.

He cursed and reached out for the stupid device. He should have just turned it off…

He was glad he hadn’t when Malia’s name flashed across the screen.

It was 2 am. His pulse quickened even before he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Derek!”, she sobbed. “I fucked up.”

* * *

Chasing Peter’s scent across the town and half the forest wasn’t the worst part. Derek had hoped it would lead him to the old house and there would be that. It would hurt, it always did but he had braced himself for that.

It led him elsewhere. To an old abandoned building. A motel.

 _Fucking hell_.

He cursed, carefully stepping inside. He didn’t have to follow a trail. The place was swamped of chemosignals. Mostly, it reeked of pain and misery.

He found Peter in a rundown room, curled on the floor by the door and shaking badly. He dropped to his knees next to his uncle and squeezed his shoulder, a silent “I’m here.” His own eyes stung as he whispered quietly,

“Let go.”

Peter’s pained howl, long and heartbreaking, echoed into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Peter and Chris dance to is Dissolved girl by Massive Attack.


	13. This ain’t a love song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ain’t a love song IS a love song by Bon Jovi :D  
> Last chapter guys! Thank you for following along ^^ There's only an epilogue left ;)

It was still dark when Peter slipped out of bed and changed into new clothes, dumping last night’s dress shirt and pants into a pile he swore he’d throw away, along with the painful memory of what had happened. Determined to skip the awkward fumbling he tiptoed into the hall and was just about to walk out the door when,

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut for moment before he answered.

“Running?”, he tried. Derek scoffed. “Going to the club to take care of some papers? Come on, Derek, work with me here. Just choose whatever will get me out of this conversation.”

“We need to talk”, Derek insisted.

“No”, Peter answered simply.

“Peter, I’m not asking you and don’t make me use that voice”, Derek warned.

That finally made Peter bold enough to meet his eyes; defiantly. Derek’s expression softened.

“I won’t”, he sighed. “Just come. Sit. _Talk to me_. You know I can’t leave this like that.”

“Since when do we talk, nephew?”, Peter sneered.

“Since therapy? Since you had a fucking meltdown last night and I’m your fucking Alpha.”

Peter didn’t move from the door but he didn’t reach for the handle either. He was rooted to the spot, stupefied and broken, the way he had been all these years ago… maybe all the while. Maybe since that day Christopher had sneered into his face that it was over, or more to the point - that it had never actually been there at all. Maybe he was still stuck there, barely functioning all that time until last night when his brain had short-circuited again.

“You have to face it, Peter. You have to work through this. Don’t you get it?...”

_Don’t you get it, idiot?_

“… _That’s_ what we came for.”

Peter’s attention snapped back to Derek.

What they came for.

What he needed.

Closure.

“You say I should believe him? You of all people tell me to trust an Argent?”, he wheezed out.

Derek’s hands clenched over the table. “Don’t compare them. They’re nothing alike. And your story and mine are nothing alike, Peter; understand that.”

Peter knew. Of course he knew they weren’t the same. Kate used Derek to destroy him. Chris _stopped_ _before he could_. Or so he had tried…

_“Only to keep **you** safe! From your sister, from Gerard…”_

They were a fucked up, twisted version of Romeo and Juliet. Like, Tim Burton’s edition.

Derek’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts again.

“I’m not saying to trust _him_. I’m saying to trust your _heart_ and your _wolf_. Peter, it never felt right with _her_. My wolf tried to warn me but I didn’t listen. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t know what that feeling was. But now I know.”

Now, as he had met Stiles. Now, as he knew how it could be.

“There are no mates and no forever, Derek. That’s a fairy tale”, Peter hissed.

Derek took a long minute just to look at him. Then he nodded.

“No, there are no werewolf mates. And soul mates sound too corny. But your two worlds have collided so many times and it’s gotta mean something. So maybe it’s fate. Cause I sure as hell don’t believe in coincidences. I learnt not to.”

He suddenly found his hand grasped by his Alpha. He looked up into familiar hazel eyes.

“Well? What’s it gonna be, uncle?”

* * *

The Panamera’s tires screeched as Peter jumped on the brakes right in front of the shop. He jumped out of the car and ran inside, looking around like a madman. There was no sound, no voices. No one.

Except…

“You missed him.”

He turned back around, wide eyed and panting. From what, he didn’t know. His breath wheezed out of him as he saw it was just Stiles.

“What?”, he rasped out.

“He took an early plane this morning. France”, Stiles clarified. “Allison left last night. He followed early today. He said he need to clear his head but…”, the kid hesitated.

“But what?!”, Peter yelled, hands balling into fists in his frustration.

Stiles eyed him carefully.

“It was a one way ticket.”

* * *

It was so peaceful up here, in the clouds. A pretty escape from an ugly memory.

Chris closed his eyes as Peter’s pained voice rang inside his head.

_“Still loving me? You never did!”_

What had he been thinking? That he could fix that, after all those years? That there had been a chance for… what? He had never really grown out of that stupid naïve boy he had been. Now he was just a stupid middle-aged loser running away from his problems again. Same way he had all those years ago.

And that was just the fucking problem, wasn’t it?

_“Dear passengers, we are about to land in 10 minutes so please put your seatbelts on. It is 8 am local time. The weather in Paris is…”_

He followed the orders and zoned out again.

* * *

He moved on an autopilot when he entered the huge airport and went to retrieve his luggage. Charles de Gaulle used to be a labyrinth once but after all those visits of his daughter and her boyfriend it had become kind of like a second home to him. The hustle and bustle of people who were truly lost and late for a flight or just in a hurry or welcoming their loved ones almost didn’t register anymore. He frowned a bit as he realized Allison hadn’t messaged him yet. He checked to see if he had removed his phone’s flight mode. He had. Nothing.

It was weird. She knew when his flight was expected to land and usually sent a text asking how he was and if needed a lift or anything. He always managed by himself but it still felt strange that she hadn’t checked up on him.

He finally retrieved his suitcase and braced himself for the almost impossible task to grab a taxi when he saw him. And promptly stopped functioning.

Peter Hale leaned on a row of seats with his arms crossed above his chest. He wore that fucking white dress shirt that fit him so perfectly and _did things_ to Chris. His legs, clad in jeans that were obscenely tight on his thigs, were crossed at the ankles. Nice black shoes finished the combo and Chris could bet they were Italian. There he was, polished and casual at the same time, from the expensive watch to the damn Rey Bans he took off just to give Chris another heart stroke as those blue eyes stared right into his own. A slow smirk crawled on his face as he pushed away from the seats and walked closer to Chris.

“If you’re having some silly _Casablanca_ moment then you’re wrong…”, Peter leaned in closer and Chris could hear his smile as he whispered right next to his ear, “this ain’t a love song.”

Chris couldn’t help it – he laughed, even though the sound was weak and wet. He knew his own eyes were shiny when their gazes met again yet his lips couldn’t stop smiling.

“I can’t believe you’d… you’re cynical and arrogant; never romantic…”

“But you are”, Peter smirked softly, his hand coming up to gently stroke Chris’ cheek. “Hopelessly and stupidly so.”

“And yet here you are”, Chris noted smugly.

Peter stepped closer, nuzzling at his neck in a very wolfish way. His words were muttered so low no one else could hear them, for they were meant only for the hunter. “Here I am.”

They stood there in the middle of the airport like some lovesick teenagers; like the stupid brats they were once meant to be in a stupid corny moment they had never quite had the chance to have. It was all too emotionally charged, all too tense to the point of uncomfortable.

Until,

“You’ve watched _Casablanca_?”

“No”, Peter said, voice full of disbelief. “Malia read that _11 minutes_ bullshit.”

Chris burst laughing again, throwing an arm around Peter’s neck as they made their way to the airport exit. “Sure. _Malia_ read it.”

“It was lying around, you know. I made a point of being aware what my child reads!”

“BDSM?”, Chris asked innocently, waiting for it…

Peter’s eyes widened and his finger stabbed Chris in his chest. “You hypocrite! You read it too!”

Chris just laughed again. It felt like it had been years since he’d laughed so freely.

It felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casablanca is a 1942 American romantic drama film directed by Michael Curtiz based on Murray Burnett and Joan Alison's unproduced stage play Everybody Comes to Rick's. The film stars Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and Paul Henreid.
> 
> Eleven Minutes (Portuguese: Onze Minutos) is a 2003 novel by Brazilian novelist Paulo Coelho that recounts the experiences of a young Brazilian prostitute and her journey to self-realisation through sexual experience.


	14. Conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion is a song by Apocalyptica, chosen purely for its name (it's kind of a sad song, and that's not what we're going for here but they DO have some great songs and I'm deffinitely a fan :))
> 
> Thank you for the support. It wasn't a long jorney, this story, but it was a nice one and I like how it turned out :) Hope you do too :) Have an amazing New Year! ^^

The pale morning light entered the room slowly and danced on the bed and the rumpled sheets. Lying on his stomach with his arms under his pillow, Peter sighed and his nose twitched. He wasn’t ready for that yet. It was early. He could stay in bed for a while. _Yeah_ , he sighed and decided to do just that.

There was a quiet chuckle somewhere near. The tips of calloused fingers danced down his spine, an intimate caress of silent appreciation. Chapped lips followed their path, going lower and lower and Peter could roll his eyes: he knew where they were headed to. Sure enough, just seconds later they circled the two slight dips on his lower back, a tongue joining them, making Peter moan quietly. 

“Have I told you how much I love your back dimples?”, a hoarse voice asked.

Fuck, he sounded wrecked. Peter smirked, he’d worked hard on that last night.

“Mmh. Only a few dozen times”, he groaned sleepily. “But by all means…”

Chris chuckled again, his hand sneaking around to play with a nipple before it crawled up.

“And your collar bone. Those fucking v-necks you wear don’t help at all…”

Peter snorted. “What is it with you and Derek and my t-shirts? You should join a club.”

Chris shuffled closer and rubbed his morning wood pointedly on Peter’s leg.

“I’m sure we don’t share the same sentiment.”

Peter laughed. But he turned around indulgingly, crawling above his lover and smiling down at him. Then he looked lower, feinting a put-upon sigh.

“Hmm. That looks serious. And since it was the thought of _my_ v-necks that caused this I should take responsibility, hmm?”

“Yesss”, Chris nodded impatiently. Peter hid a laugh on his neck, his hand already crawling lower.

“Not that I’m complaining, and believe me I don’t, but how can you even keep that up? And by _that_ I mean both your sex-drive and your dick. I never thought I’d find a match for my werewolf stamina. We had sex three times last night!”

“We have a lot of time to make up for”, Chris groaned. “And speaking of that…”

“Less speaking. Got that”, Peter smirked, diving under the blanket and making Chris’ eyes cross. Again.

* * *

The kitchen was already occupied when they finally emerged from their bedroom, fresh after a shower in the adjoined bathroom. The new house had turned out just how Peter imagined it – spacious and comfortable, close to the woods and big enough to contain their surprisingly grown pack.

And yet not big enough for Stiles this morning as it seemed he wanted to be anywhere else. His face was bright red and he didn’t meet their eyes when Chris greeted him with a simple “Stiles.”

“Boss”, he nodded back, flinching as if still traumatized by what he must have heard last night. And this morning. Peter leered and he could swear he saw Chris hiding a smile in his coffee mug.

They were both screamers.

And revenge was sweet.

“Where are the others?”, Peter asked.

“Wise enough for a night out”, Stiles blurted. “Honestly, Derek and I got it, guys. Point taken and I’m scarred for life. No more, please!”

“Hmm? Whatever are you talking about, Stiles?”, Peter grinned toothily.

There was a loud bang, then,

“We’re home, tell me there’s coffee!”, Malia yelled from the foyer.

“And food”, Isaac joined.

“Saved by the wolves”, Peter smirked as Stiles heaved a sigh, redder than ever, right as Malia, Isaac, Erica and Boyd flooded the kitchen. Isaac immediately went for the fridge and if he didn’t know any better Peter would never believe that the skinny kid ate more than Boyd and Derek combined.

“You’ll eat me out of house and home”, Peter commented teasingly.

Isaac snorted. With his mouth full. It wasn’t pretty.

“Please. I know how much the club makes _a night_.”

Peter shrugged. It was true after all.

Malia looked morosely at a pile of textbooks before she grabbed them along with her precious coffee and went out on the deck. Erica and Stiles were already arguing about _scones_ of all things while Boyd tried to mediate and Isaac kept stuffing his mouth. Chris rolled his eyes next to him, kissed his brow and went to get more damn scones.

Peter sighed and made his way outside.

Malia sat on the deck, a deep frown marring her face as she stared down at the textbook on her lap. The nervous tapping of her pencil reminded Peter of Stiles and the fact that they were probably spending too much time together. And while he liked the kid and was happy Malia had gotten over her crush on him enough that they could actually be friends, Stiles was rubbing off on her in some unbecoming ways.

“Hey”, he called. “Need some help with homework?”, he asked, a bit reluctantly. He’d never been a stellar student but he couldn’t just leave his cub struggle alone.

“Yes, please!”, Malia heaved a sigh and dropped the textbook on his lap as soon as he sat next to her.

Math.

Great.

“Uh…”

“Really?”, she rolled her eyes. But there was a small smile tugging at her lips. “How do you even run a business? Who does the math at the club?”

“Derek. I’m just very good in charming the right people.”

“And spend a lot of money”, Derek added as he passed them, holding a heavy looking box. “Of all the possible traits, that’s what she took from you.”

“And the drama! Never forget the drama!”, Stiles called from somewhere within the house.

“Stilinski! Get your all-knowing ass here and help her with… that”, he finished, kind of helplessly looking at the…

“Vectors”, Stiles smirked infuriatingly, looking down over their shoulders.

Peter sighed again and leaned back on his forearms, staring at the pale pink clouds of the sunrise.

The day was going to be great.


End file.
